Happy birthday, baby Jesus,
born in awkward circumstance,
named in heaven “God is with us”
while the world looked on askance.
You were praised by simple peasants,
not by princes nor by priests.
Who should bring you priceless presents?
Unbelievers from the East!
Son of Mary, girl unmarried,
maid with soul who sang of peace,
with your father she was harried
by Judea’s thought police.
Boy delivered in a stable,
tucked away behind an inn,
people libelled you with labels
fixed by prejudice and sin.
Word of God for human reading,
Holy Lord in fallen flesh,
one day you’ll lie bruised and bleeding,
cross stands waiting after crèche.
You confound all expectations,
testing what we thought we knew;
deep Desire of all the Nations,
exiles find their home in you.
Suggested tune: Hyfrydol