A wee small boy named Daniel would play
Not with toys but the rhythms he made
He practiced every night after night
Until he knew the cadences right
“Daniel, bring your snare today!”
He heard his father proudly say
King Herod calls for twelve to drum
A corps whose praises long will be sung
Rich and poor
Whether lone or in the corps
Sound the drum to your heart’s delight
You will find your rhythm tonight
He played his best, by size undeterred
But Herrod gave his final word
Daniel’s drumming he never heard
He held back tears as best he was able
And ran to hide in the nearby stable
A newborn boy there he did find
That night he played the drum for a king of a different kind
