Into the realm of princes and thieves
comes the child, comes the child,
hay on his brow.
Into the darkness that knew not the light
comes the Word, comes the Word,
truth in His flight.
Into the sheep-pen where shepherds dig deep
comes the Cross, comes the Cross,
ransoming sheep.
Into indulgence and folly and pride
comes the King, comes the true King;
duplucity dies.
The Consolations of Writing 