By a lonely road stands a lonely light,
‘Neath the clouded full moon above.
A dismal stretch of a country path,
Devoid of warmth and love.
A traveler stands on the lonely road,
Looking both to the left and the right,
And turns to walk down the lonely road,
Lit by the lonely light.
Houses full of Christmas cheer,
Windows glow warmly within,
But the shutter is closed, the curtains are drawn,
And no one invites him in.
As he reaches a fork in the lonely road,
A lantern’s light draws his eye.
And from underneath a stable’s roof,
He hears an infant’s cry.
A mother bids her child hush,
A father holds her hand,
And in a lowly feeding-trough,
Lay the perfect, holy lamb.
The traveler turns to lay a gift
Below the makeshift crib,
A broken, filthy, darkened heart
Is all he had to give.
And as he turns to walk away,
An angel chorus sings,
And praises fill the sky above,
To hail the infant king.
And as the stranger walks away,
Light shines from a star,
To guide the traveler as he goes forth,
To share the story afar,
No more to walk in darkness,
For Christ had come that night,
And no one else need walk that road,
Lit by the lonely light.