The air is cold, the night is dark; this is not the time for thrills.
This is no time for gluttony, for feasting till they burst
This is a time of longing, of craving and of thirst.
Long have these folk awaited a saviour for them all
‘Tis in the long night watches that they listen for the call
To hear the news they yearn for, a sounding of the trumpet horn
Instead an angel tells them that a baby boy is born.
This is no kingly coming, with noise and pomp and power
Whose arrival is announced from every mountainside and tower.
A king who would deliver them from their occupiers’ hands:
Instead it is a baby before whom they cannot stand.
For into tiny Bethlehem those shepherds hurried then
To see that little babe who is the Rescuer of Men.
As they kneel before that manger wherein the Christ child lies
A wondering world can see Him through those humble shepherds’ eyes.
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