It sat festering on my preview pile for weeks then recorded yet neglected on my Sky+ planner, whispering "Graaace, come and behold the gynaecological bloodbath".
When shall I come and behold the face of God? Jesus, at the end of his human life, yearns with every beaten, bloody fiber of his being to behold again the face of God.
The fans who came to behold Mickelson, a crowd favorite, had the added treat of bearing witness to Spieth's seven-birdie, one-eagle, no-bogey round.
How could anyone who has come full-circle behold the mote in his brother's eye, but not the beam in his own?
So many moves go through him or to him, and goals and assists (some glorious to behold) have come freely.
To sort of help people say, no, you know, they asked you this, time, and you've had a similar request before, just try passing on it and, lo and behold, things come back.
Late in time behold him come, offspring of a Virgin womb!" Today, in one form or another, hundreds of millions of people across the world are celebrating that story in song: the story of a chaste woman who, by a miracle, gave earthly life to a man who had always existed in another realm as the eternal progeny of God.
Even so, my own favourite would be the great Horatius Bonar's Go, Labour On, Spend, and be Spent, with its unforgettable (and strictly never-to-be-sung-at-weddings) last lines: Soon shalt thou hear the bridegroom's voice, the midnight cry, "Behold, I come!".
Revelation 3 11, "Behold I come quickly; hold that fast which thou hast, that no man take thy crown".
