True kings are those who thus forsake
  Their kingdoms for the Eternal King;
Serpent, her foot is on thy neck;
  Herod, thou writhest, but canst not sting.

He, He is King, and He alone
  Who lifts that infant hand to bless;
Who makes His mother's knee His throne,
  Yet rules the starry wilderness.

In the fields where, long ago,
  Dropping tears, amid the leaves,
Ruth's young feet went to and fro,
  Binding up the scattered sheaves,
In the field that heard the voice
  Of Judea's shepherd King,
Still the gleaners may rejoice,
  Still the reapers shout and sing.

For each mount and vale and plain
  Felt the touch of holier feet.
Then the gleaners of the grain
  Heard, in voices full and sweet,
"Peace on earth, good will to men,"
  Ring from angel lips afar,