I

Hail to the morn that dawns on eastern hills,

More radiant far than any earthly morn;

’Tis heavenly light that all creation fills;—

The Christ is born.

II

Mystery profound, through all the ages sealed,

Now, to a world all hopeless, and forlorn,

In Bethlehem’s manger is at length revealed;—

The Christ is born.

III

Lo, from their watch, the herdsmen raise their eyes,

For, dazzling light the robe of night had torn,

And angels poured their raptures from the skies,—

The Christ is born.

IV

Bring ye your gifts of gold and incense rare

Wise men who come, all travel-stained and worn,

Find ye the Child, and pay your homage there;—

The Christ is born.

V

Hail to the morn, the world exulting sings;

Only to Him, in fealty we are sworn,

Lord of our lives, Immortal King of kings!—

The Christ is born.