| All the streets are filled with laughter and light
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| And the music of the season
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| And the merchant’s windows are all bright
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| With the faces of the children
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| And the families hurry into their homes
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| As the sky darkens and freezes
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| We’ll be gathering around our hearths and tables
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| Giving thanks for God’s graces
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| And the birth of the rebel Jesus
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| Well, they call Him by the Prince of peace
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| And they call Him by the Savior
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| And they pray to Him upon the seats
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| And in every bold endeavor
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| And they fill His churches with their pride and gold
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| As their faith in Him increases
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| But they’ve turned the nature that I worship in
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| From a temple to a robber’s den
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| In the words of the rebel Jesus
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| We guard our world with locks and guns
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| And we guard our fine possessions
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| And once a year when Christmas comes
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| We give to our relations
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| And perhaps we give a little to the poor
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| If the generosity should seize us
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| But if anyone of us should interfere
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| In the business of why there are poor
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| We get the same as the rebel Jesus
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| But pardon me if I have seemed
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| To take the tone of judgment
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| For I’ve no wish to come between
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| This day and your enjoyment
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| In a life of hardship and of earthly toil
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| There’s a need for anything that frees us
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| So I bid you pleasure and I bid you cheer
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| From a heathen and a pagan
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| On the side of the rebel Jesus |