There’s a Babe within the manger. Humble men are on the hills.
Where the sheep are safely folded, there the silver moonlight spills.
There’s a rift across the heavens. There’s a light along the sky.
There’s a glory in the valley. There’s an angel song on high.
There’s a Babe within the manger. On the hills are humble men.
“Peace on earth,” rings forth the chorus, and their hearts respond, “Amen!”
There’s a Babe within the manger. There’s a star that shines above.
’Tis a star of age-long promise. ’Tis the morning star of love.
There are wise men. They are kneeling. They have brought their tribute there--
Gold, and frankincense, and myrrh. Behold the majesty they wear.
There are wise men. They are kneeling. Wisdom comes upon its knees.
In its simple recognition of the birth and reign of peace.
Humble men are on the hillsides, men of wisdom in the stall
Where the new-born King of Glory deigns to find His earthly all.
High and low have met together. There before a common shrine
Rich and poor, unlearned and lettered, each has found the King Divine.
Christ is Lord of humble peasant. He is Lord of royal son.
At His feet all men are equal. In His way all men are one.