"And is it true, and is it true?

This most tremendous tale of all.

Seen in a stained glass window's hue

A baby, in an ox's stall.

The maker of the stars and sea,

Became a child on earth, for me?

And is it true?

For if it is, no loving fingers tying strings

Around those tissued fripperies, the sweet and silly Christmas things

Bath salts, and inexpensive scent

And hideous tie, so kindly meant.

No love that in a family dwells

No carolling in frosty air

Nor all the steeple-shaking bells

Can with this simple truth compare:

That God was man in Palestine

And lives today, in bread and wine."

Betjemann