And come out only once a year
Then I am covered in lights,
glass balls, and a star.
Beneath me is a skirt;
covered with brightly wrapped presents
with red bows on their heads.
Though my wood was not shaped
To hold my incarnate Creator,
When he was born in Bethlehem
Nor to carry him as he slept
On Galilee’s stormy sea
Not even to support his body
As he hung on Calvary.
When the children awake
On Christmas morn
And the story of the babe is read
I will stand straight, proud, and tall.
To bring glory to the Light of the World.
