In testaments from long ago as we see time to measure
Shepherds tell of God’s own words come to them as treasure
The day will come, you shall not know but it will come, be sure
When God shall walk the earth as man, His wisdom shall be pure
Manger born in Bethlehem, even that part was foreseen
A census sent them to the inn, though borne a Nazarene
The town was full, the count afoot, no place to lay a head.
A stable stall, a mat of straw was Mary’s birthing bed.
As night fell cold and clear and bright, her ordeal was at hand
To culminate the tales long told, a Christ child to the land
Obediently, her husband there, did foster to her needs
The child, though theirs, was not of him, his trust in God exceeds
Our own, for were we called to bow and take his place
Not one of us would likely have his devotion, love – his grace.
The night wore on, the darkness deep, no moon that night was there
The livestock lowed and pawed the ground, instinctively aware
Their warmth they gave, it’s all they had to give the little child
Enough it was, though be it cold, the manger became mild.
Within His mothers arms they watched, a cause for glee and laughter
He squirmed and fed and went to sleep and so did they soon after
And others came, to mark the day as on their knees they fell.
For in the east, a star rose full, a sign Immanuel.
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