I seem to feel compelled to visit Hillert's elegant little tune every year, though I will confess to never quite being satisfied with the treatment.... something no improviser wants to consider: perhaps some things are better left alone! Suspect I'll keep trying!
From Shepherding of stars that gaze
Toward heav'nly fields of light,
I come with tidings to amaze
You watchers in the night.
Your shepherd King from starlit hall
Bends down to weary lands,
Lies mangered low in cattle stall.
Go touch his infant hands.
This night your King brings from afar
The virgin's lullabye,
The Wise Men's faith, a guiding star,
And love from God Most High.
He shepherds from the thistled place
The flocks by thickets torn;
His pierced hands heal all your race
Sore wounded by the thorn.
Embrace the Christchild, and with songs
Bind up the hearts in pain.
The shepherd-healer-king let throngs
Sing glorias again.