| The horse’s hay beneath his head
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| Our Lord was born to a manger bed
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| That all whose wells run dry
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| Could drink of His supply
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| To keep Him warm, the sheep drew near
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| So grateful for His coming here
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| Come with news of grace
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| Come to take my place
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| The donkey whispered in His ear
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| «Child, in 30-some-odd years
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| You’ll ride someone who looks like me
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| Untriumphantly»
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| The cardinals warbled a joyful song
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| He’ll make right what man made wrong
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| Bringing low the hills
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| That the valleys might be filled
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| Then «Child», asked the birds
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| «Well, aren’t they lovely words we sing?»
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| The tiny baby laid there
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| Without saying anything
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| At a distance stood a mangy goat
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| With the crooked teeth and a matted coat
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| Weary eyes and worn
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| Chipped and twisted horns
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| Thinking «maybe I’ll make friends someday
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| With the cows and the hens and the rambouillet
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| But for now, I’ll keep away
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| I got nothing smart to say»
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| There’s a sign on the barn
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| In the cabbage town
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| «when the rain picks up
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| And the sun goes down
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| Sinners, come inside
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| With no money, come and buy
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| No clever talk, nor a gift to bring
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| Requires our lowly, lovely King
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| Come now empty handed, you don’t need anything»
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| And the night was cool
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| And clear as glass
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| With the sneaking snake in the garden grass
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| Deep cried out to deep
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| The disciples fast asleep
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| And the snake perked up
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| When he heard you ask
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| «If you’re willing that
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| This cup might pass
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| We could find our way back home
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| Maybe start a family all our own»
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| «But does not the Father guide the Son?
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| Not my will, but Yours be done
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| What else here to do?
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| What else me, but You?»
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| And the snake who’d held the world
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| A stick, a carrot and a string
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| Was crushed beneath the foot
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| Of your not wanting anything |