They All Were Looking For A King
To Slay Their Foes And Lift Them High;
Thou Camest A Little Baby Thing
That Made A Woman Cry.

O Son Of Man, To Right My Lot
Naught But Thy Presence Can Avail;
Yet On The Road Thy Wheels Are Not,
Nor On The Sea Thy Sail.

My Fancied Ways Why Should’st Thou Heed?
Thou Comest Down Thine Own Secret Stair;
Comest Down To Answer All My Need,
Yes, Every Bygone Prayer.