Caesar sent a decree through the breadth of Roman ground,

Calling every household toward its own ancestral town.

Joseph left from Galilee and took the southern road,

David's blood returning where the house of David stood.

Mary traveled with him, heavy with the child she'd bear,

Miles of dust beneath them, census travelers everywhere.

Bethlehem was crowded when her appointed hour drew near,

And the city of the shepherd king received the promised heir.

Born in Bethlehem,

No chamber dressed in gold,

No guard beside the doorway,

No palace to behold.

Born in Bethlehem,

Wrapped close against the night,

David's heir in swaddling cloth,

Laid in a manger that night.

While they were there the days were fully brought to term,

And Mary bore her firstborn in the press of that return.

She wrapped Him up in cloth and laid Him where the feeding lay,

Because no room was open in the lodging place that day.

The empire moved its numbers; the little town was full,

Yet heaven's promised kingship entered quiet, small, and vulnerable.

No extra tale is needed, no ornament to prove

How history turned in Bethlehem through one exhausted room.

No room in the inn,

But the hour had room enough.

No throne in the town,

But the promise had arrived.

Caesar counted subjects,

Joseph answered law.

Mary reached the city

With the child the angel saw.

David's town received Him

Without a royal claim,

And a manger kept the body

Of the child with Jesus' name.

Born in Bethlehem,

No chamber dressed in gold,

No guard beside the doorway,

No palace to behold.

Born in Bethlehem,

Wrapped close against the night,

The kingdom without ending

Entered quietly into sight.

Swaddling cloth.

A manger bed.

Bethlehem received Him.