dies out in favor of
the 1950s:
two-tone tress all
white and
black as though the
seasons
caught the modern
spirit by
thine advent here—Our
Lord
delivered on suburban
lawn.
The Word became plastic
and
made His dwelling among
us.
But come, o come,
Emmanuel—
to stable or suburban
lawn, or
to the tune of trumpets
blaring
through the rolled-back
clouds.
Your nature's laws
could not prevent
your coming, yet o come
again,
Emmanuel, and ransom
captive
sylvan hills, suburban
lawn and Israel.
