Beneath the chill of Bethlehem’s skies,
Where starlight whispers ancient sighs,
A child is born—Divinity’s face revealing,
From within the manger, grace unyielding.

No royal court, no grand display,
But straw and shadow mark the way.
The Word-made-flesh, in frailty bound,
Heaven’s King, on humble ground.

Did angels weep to see Him small,
Who shaped the stars and governs all?
Did Mary’s heart both ache and sing,
To cradle close the Sovereign King?

From fragile cries to future groans,
The manger points to cross and thrones.
For here begins the saving strife:
The birth of Love, the death of life.

O pilgrims weary, pause and see:
This holy night births destiny.
The cradle holds a greater creed—
A King who bends to every need.

And yet this gift demands a choice:
To hear the call, to heed the voice.
To let Him reign, the soul’s delight,
Or turn away into the night.

So kneel, ye hearts, before the Tree,
Where cradle yields to Calvary.
Christmas glows with sacred fire,
The birth of hope, the world’s desire.