Not in marble halls,
not beneath a crown of gold.
Not in Rome’s triumphant arches,
its banners bright with conquest bold.
But here, in the dust of Bethlehem,
He came—a child, the Savior foretold.
The world was Caesar’s empire,
its coins engraved with his decree,
“Augustus, lord and savior.”
But they couldn’t make the blind man see,
nor still the cry of weary hearts
longing for what could set them free.
And yet the King of all the earth
chose swaddling cloth and manger hay.
The hands that flung the stars alight
were curled in Mary’s arms that day.
No royal robe, no chariot—
just heaven’s glory, tucked away.
A shepherd’s staff, a carpenter’s hands,
a crown of thorns, a borrowed tomb.
No palace walls, no Senate seat,
just shadowed nights and an upper room.
And still the angels sang for joy—
their King had come, His kingdom bloomed.
For Rome will fall, and so will kings,
their thrones will crumble into dust.
But love that walked in Bethlehem
still stoops to lift the low and crushed.
The manger outshines every throne;
the Savior’s name remains with us.
| -Stephen Scaggs |