I lift my praise to my King. Jesus Christ, the Nazarene. The Seed that fell from David's tree. He tumbled through the centuries. To the valley of Galilee. He came birthed through maids virginity. Which called to wise men through stars serenity. A humble birth, a bed of straw, a floor of earth, But still they felt His royal hearth. His name was Savior, Immanuel, A Living Well of Living Water. Never dry no need to wander, And to this King could be none greater. God with us, Divine Creator. Who's infinity fit within a manger. His love unending for all and stranger. His hands come rushing to those in danger. Always faithful, never failing A strong tower, never wavering. Fixed eternally unshaken. His royalty is absolute. The way He died bore the proof. Understood who He was. With outstretched hands He spread His love. While crying out to God above. Though He able He did note hate. His love was stable and continued at a rate that was so great It could only be fitting to a King. So I sing this song of Jesus Christ. The Son of God was sacraficed. If He wanted could've snuffed all life, But chose instead to die by spear and spikes that burrowed in His arms and legs, and not once through His pain did beg... Other than just to say, "Father...forgive them... For they know not what they do this day." In this song, it is, I say... Glory to His majesty.