Tonight we feast a holy mystery:
The uncreated Word who took on flesh
To execute his own divine decree;
A King who makes a feeding trough his crèche.
He came to make himself of no account
Before whose throne the seraphs hide their face,
And left the heavens filled with his renown
To represent his own of Adam’s race.
Our own iniquities he took upon
Himself, and bore the bitter cup of wrath
That by all rights was ours, till it was gone.
No condemnation need we fear, nor death!
          And so, with ransomed, joyful hearts, we sing
          And feast, and worship Christ, the newborn King.