Verse 1 On a night in lowly silence, under Bethlehem’s dim light, Like a tender shoot He rises in the cold of winter’s night. As a root from arid places, in a stable rough and bare, No form or earthly beauty that would draw our longing there. No royal bed to lay Him, just a manger, hay, and stall, He who flung the stars in heaven comes unnoticed by us all. We sing of joy and glory while the infant softly cries— The Man of sorrows, yet a baby, opens still and holy eyes. ⸻ Chorus O Christmas Child, despised and low, Man of sorrows come below; You have borne our griefs and pain, Carried every hidden shame. Wounded for our sin and wrong, Bruised to make our hearts belong; From the manger to the tree, By Your stripes, we are made free. ⸻ Verse 2 He will grow before the Father like a tender fragile vine, Acquainted with our sorrows, tasting every bitter brine. We will hide our faces from Him, turn away and close our eyes, He is despised and not esteemed, the Holy One we’ll soon deny. Yet surely He will bear our burdens, all the grief we dare not show, All the secrets, all the failures, every wound and every woe. Still we’ll think Him God-forsaken, smitten, cursed, and left alone— But the guilt that crushed His shoulders was forever ours, not His own. ⸻ Chorus O Christmas Child, despised and low, Man of sorrows come below; You have borne our griefs and pain, Carried every hidden shame. Wounded for our sin and wrong, Bruised to make our hearts belong; From the manger to the tree, By Your stripes, we are made free. ⸻ Verse 3 All we like sheep have wandered off, each one to our crooked way, While the Shepherd hangs in darkness where the sins of many lay. Like a lamb led to the slaughter, like a sheep that makes no sound, He is silent, meek, and willing as the nails and thorns are crowned. Numbered with the vile transgressors, lifted up in crimson flood, He pours out His soul to death and writes our pardon with His blood. Yet the Father sees His suffering, counts the travail of His soul, And is satisfied forever, for His wounds have made us whole. ⸻ Bridge All we like sheep have gone astray, on this Child our debt is laid; From Christmas crib to Easter morn, see the purpose he was born. Grave with wicked, rich in death, Still He gives us living breath; Righteous Servant, holy Lamb, Justifies the great “I am.” ⸻ Final Chorus O Christmas Child, despised and low, Man of sorrows come below; You have borne our griefs and pain, Carried every hidden shame. Wounded for our sin and wrong, Bruised to make our hearts belong; From the manger to the tree, By Your stripes, we are made free. Tag From the stable’s humble light, to the cross’s darkest night, Christmas tells the world Your name— Suffering Servant, born to reign.
