Born in a manger on the hay,
The angels sang His praise that day,
As kings and shepherds gathered ‘round
To see the King without a crown.
He grew to be a happy child
With gentle ways and happy smile,
His voice was such a joyful sound;
But still a King without a crown.
And then one day the boy had grown,
‘Twas time to set out on His own;
An unknown path He did walk down,
This wondrous King without a crown.
He preached the Word of God to all,
Told them to heed the Father’s call,
He was betrayed; the tears could drown;
They mourned the King without a crown.
Upon a cruel hard wooden cross,
For all our sins He paid the cost;
Upon His head they placed in scorn
A sharply piercing crown of thorns.
Now Jesus sits at God’s right hand
And watches o’er this troubled land,
With angels singing all around;
No more a King without a crown.
© 2006 Fay Herridge