Behold the King is born…

 In a Manger and not a Palace
 The Creator from whom
 all things came, carried in mortal womb
 Shunned by Pomp and might
 Not even the poor took plight
 The reason for all season
 Persecuted for high treason
 Majesty from on High
 Sucking breast as mum lay nigh
 Rejected by all
 For love he thus fall
 Divinity in serenity
 Sovereign Power wrapped in tender flower
 Oh what a day
 Happy though it may
 But none sung save for the angles’
 Gloria de Dios