| Yes, he was born in an obscure village
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| The son of a simple pleasant woman
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| He grew up in another small town
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| And worked with his father in a carpenter shop
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| Until he was thirty
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| And then for three years he was
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| What we would call a traveling preacher
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| He never wrote a book, he never held political office
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| The places he did go, he usually walked
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| He never did any of the things
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| That one usually associates with greatness
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| He had no credentials but himself
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| When he was only thirty three
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| The tide of public opinion turned against him
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| Some of his friends deserted him
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| One denied him, one even betrayed him
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| And turned him over to his enemies
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| He went through the mockery of a trial
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| He was nailed to a cross between two thieves
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| While he was dying his executioners gambled
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| For his only possession, His robe, his purple robe
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| When he was dead he was taken from the cross
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| And laid in a borrowed grave
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| Provided through the compassion of a friend
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| Nineteen wide centuries have since come and gone
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| And today this man is the centerpiece of the human race
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| The leader in the column of mankinds progress
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| I think that I am well within the mark when I say
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| All the armies that ever marched
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| All the navies that ever sailed the seven seas
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| All the legislative bodies that ever met
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| All the kings and rulers that have ever rigned all put together
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| Have not effected the life of man on this earth
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| As much as that one solitare life
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| Silent night, holy night
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| All is calm, all is bright
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| Round young virgin
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| Mother and child
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| Holy infant so tender and mild
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| Sleep in heavenly peace
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| Sleep in heavenly peace… |