What king would stoop so low,
As to touch a bed of straw?

‘No prince I know would have the gall!’

Yet, true the prophets said it so,
A king would be born one night.

‘But in a pauper’s plight?’

A cave, a cold dank thing it was
There bundled in the gloom.

‘Bah, Just as likely to cradle the moon!’

Then suddenly with breathless piercing pain,
Startled beasts saw it all begin;

‘A peasant birthing a king?’

A King at first they did not see,
The King? Yes, but dared not say.

‘If so, He turned golden a throne of hay.’

For a world bent beyond repair,
And redemption a foregone thought;

(In whisper): ‘Beheld what forever the prophets sought!’

‘What King would stoop so low?’

Only One, whose suckle and coo’s
Filled a squalid cave that night,

‘A King of King’s, the couple held!’

Agreed, and more… Eternal Life.