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.