Come before Him, gather ’round
In royal chamber underground.
There He lies by sheep and ox
Asleep inside a feeding box.
See the hay, it forms a crown:
Behold your king.

For our sakes the prophets say,
He’s soon to trade sweet manger hay
And shepherds’ praise for Adam’s scorn,
And on His brow don Adam’s thorn.
Still the mules around Him bray.
Behold your king.

High they’ll hang Him as a thief
Crying, desperate for relief,
They’ll mock Him ’til His final breath
Whose only crime is killing death.
Who has known or felt His grief?
Behold your king.

Yes, very soon, know full well:
This tiny babe whom angels tell
Will bear the curse of Adam’s fruit—
He’ll climb the tree and strike the root
And so destroy the powers of Hell.
Behold your king.

So come before Him, bow your knee.
Though this lamb a lion be,
And though He make you quake with fear,
He proves His love to sinners here
In Bethlehem, come, come and see:
Behold your king

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