Mountain pine weighed down so low Branches bowed with silent snow But underneath the glistening The wordless wood is listening, listening, listening For the frost will fly When the Christmas baby cries Beast that bristle with the cold Huddle in the bitter blow But while the blast is thundering Their frozen souls are wondering, wondering, wondering If this is the night When the Christmas baby cries For the frost will fly When the Christmas baby cries Wind comes creeping through the cracks Flame blows from the candle wax Yet there is faith for fragile man A Child is born in Bethlehem, Bethlehem, Bethlehem For our hope will rise For our hope will rise For our hope will rise When the Christmas baby cries
