In hymns of praise, eternal God,

When thy creating hand

Stretched the blue arch of heaven abroad,

And meted sea and land,

The morning stars together sung,

And shouts of joy from angels rung.

2 Than earth’s prime hour, more joyous far

Was the eventful morn,

When the bright beam of Bethlehem’s star

Announced a Saviour born!

Then sweeter strains from heaven began

“Glory to God—good will to man.”

3 Babe of the manger! can it be?

Art thou the Son of God?

Shall subject nations bow the knee,

And kings obey thy nod?

Shall thrones and monarchs prostrate fall

Before the tenant of a stall?

4 ’Tis he! the hymning seraphs cry,

While hovering drawn to earth;

’Tis he, the shepherds’ songs reply;

Hail! hail! Immanuel’s birth;

The rod of peace those hands shall bear,

That brow a crown of glory wear!

5 ’Tis he! the eastern sages sing,

And spread their golden hoard;

’Tis he! the hills of Zion ring,

Hosanna to the Lord!

The Prince of long prophetic years

To-day in Bethlehem appears!