O, Lord of love and all creation,
hear my Christmas invocation
written in first-rate formation,

the maestro’s verse configuration

In spite of tales we’ve not forgot,
in spite of spear and arrows shot
and chariots to speed the hot

not footprint, grail nor Camelot

The comfortable lies we sell
are easier by far to tell
than stony truth’s soft-telling bell

“Those feet” did walk in Israel

And did they walk in Albion?
And is this where your visage shone?
And did we earn such benison

I see no River Rubicon

And yet, since truth is to the fore,
I'd say I love my country more
than angels I can scarce adore

Beneath the silent sky, this floor

And, in the joy of Christmas morn,
I know "the countenance" new-born,
come Easter, will too soon be torn

And was there found an English thorn

And is it so important whence
you came and how departed hence?
O, Son of Man, what represents

Gold and myrrh and frankincense

Though miracles still spread your name
and crucifixes keep your fame
and empty churches yet proclaim

the things you said are why you came

And now, God help me, here am I.
This end alone perhaps is why:
of Moon and Mars to prophesy

reach for the safety of the sky

The scientific world agrees
our future holds no guarantees.
While politicians hold the keys,

The best among them only sees

So help us now to see beyond
our countries on which we're so fond.
This Christmas, let us not be conned

and help your children to respond

Let hands of enmity be stilled.
Our task requires them newly skilled.
We'll see our foes' friendship fulfilled,

And man-to-man, we're sure to build