Seven centuries before your birth the ancient Scriptures speak of you .
What is this government? What is this peace, O Christmas baby? Are you a warrior-to-be? Are you a king? What promise do you hold?
How can you be the Mighty God while flecks of straw, blown from the stable floor, dot your fine hair? How is this?
How can you be the Everlasting Father while not yet an hour old? How is it?
How can you be a Wonderful Counselor before you've learned? A teacher before you've been taught? What is the wellspring of your wisdom?
What is this mystery set before us, enigmatic newborn lying in a stable manger, born of parents poor, yet destined for this greatness? You must be the One we've hoped for, longed for all our lives. The One who will set us free from our depressions and oppressions, within and without.
Little wonder angels cannot contain their Good News of Great Joy. Little wonder heavenly host sing in chorus,
Be my peace, O Prince of Peace. Let its gentle, joyful blanket comfort my nervous soul, and still the warring of your earth.
Be my government, O Christ. Govern not my own heart only, but also this desperate world in which I live.
Be my Everlasting Father and my Counselor. By your counsel guide me out of confusion and turmoil into the sunlight that always shines above my low-lying clouds.