The night was cold on Bethlehem’s hill,
The stars hung low and bright,
And every road was filled with those
Who travelled through the night.
I was a boy with empty hands,
No treasure could I bring,
Only a worn and weathered drum
To greet the newborn King.

The shepherds came with stories told
Of angels in the sky,
The wise men bore their costly gifts
From lands both far and high.
And there I stood behind them all,
Ashamed of what was mine,
For what was one small drummer boy
Before a Child divine?

So I played my drum for Him,
The only gift I knew,
A simple song from simple hands,
A rhythm old and true.
And when I finished, silence fell,
The stable still and dim,
Then Jesus smiled upon my soul,
And I played my drum for Him.

His mother watched with weary eyes,
Yet kindness filled her face,
And Joseph stood beside her there
Within that humble place.
The cattle stirred, the lantern swayed,
The shadows danced and spun,
And in that little stable stall
My earthly song was done.

But long after the night had passed,
And long after dawn had come,
I carried with me everywhere
The memory of that smile alone.
The kings returned unto their lands,
The shepherds to their sheep,
Yet something from that holy night
Refused to let me sleep.

So I played my drum for Him,
The only gift I knew,
A simple song from simple hands,
A rhythm old and true.
And though the years would carry me
Far from Bethlehem’s hymn,
I never lost that sacred night
I played my drum for Him.

I played for weddings in the spring,
For harvests in the fall,
For children dancing in the dust,
For markets loud and small.
Yet every beat would take me back
To where the cattle lay,
And to the Child whose gentle smile
Still lit my darkest day.

I heard of wonders through the years,
The blind restored to sight,
The lepers cleansed, the hungry fed,
The darkness filled with light.
And travellers spoke a Teacher’s name
Across the hills and sea,
And every tale that reached my ears
Sounded familiar to me.

Then one day by the roadside there
I heard a crowd draw near,
And through the dust I saw a Man
The people longed to hear.
The years had changed His infant face,
Yet somehow still I knew,
The smile that met me long ago
Was shining gently through.

So I played my drum for Him,
Though older now was I,
And when He turned and looked at me
I thought my heart would cry.
For in His eyes I saw again
The stable’s lantern dim,
And all the love of Bethlehem
Still living deep within.

Then came the day of nails and wood,
Of darkness at the noon,
The day the world seemed torn apart
And every song ended too soon.
I stood among the silent crowd
Beneath the grieving sky,
And for the first time in my life
I could not make my drum reply.

The hands that blessed the weak and poor,
The hands that calmed the sea,
Were stretched upon a cruel cross
For souls like mine and me.
And all I had to offer then
Was sorrow without end,
For how could I repay the One
Who called a drummer friend?

Three days later came the news
That death itself had failed,
That stone and grave and darkness all
Before His power paled.
And suddenly the world was new,
The morning brighter seemed,
As if the song He placed within
Was greater than I’d dreamed.

So I played my drum for Him,
The risen Lord of grace,
And every note became a prayer
Of wonder at His face.
For once He smiled in Bethlehem,
A child so poor and slim,
And all my life was changed because
I played my drum for Him.

Now I am old and wintered like
The olive trees that bend,
My hands are weak, my hearing fades,
I know my days must end.
The roads I walked are nearly done,
The evening light grows thin,
Yet still I hear that stable song
As clear as it has been.

I own no gold from eastern kings,
No great or noble name,
No monument of stone remains
To tell from where I came.
But one thing shall accompany
My soul when life grows dim,
The memory of the night He smiled
When I played my drum for Him.

So I will bring my heart once more,
The only gift I own,
Not perfect praise nor worthy works,
Just love for Him alone.
And when at last I see His face
Beyond this world of sin,
I pray He smiles the way He did
The night I played for Him.

Perhaps in Heaven’s endless fields,
Where saints and angels sing,
I’ll hear again that holy night
And see once more my King.
And though eternity rolls on,
One truth shall never dim:

I was a boy with nothing else…

And I played my drum for Him.