When the herald angels sang
"Glory to the newborn king",
He was least of all on earth,
No choir carolled at his birth,
Not a bell on earth would ring,
Just a baby's hunger-pang.
Only when he stood to face
Pilate, waiting for his death,
Would he take the name of king,
When he had given everything,
Stripped himself of all but breath,
Then he ruled all time and space.
Can this be reality?
The wise are fools and fools are wise;
A baby holds the world in thrall;
A man is king when stripped of all
And lives for ever as he dies.
(Repeat first verse)