All praise to Thee, eter­nal Lord,
Clothed in a garb of flesh and blood;
Choosing a man­ger for Thy throne,
While worlds on worlds are Thine alone.

Once did the skies be­fore Thee bow;
A vir­gin’s arms con­tain Thee now,
While an­gels, who in Thee re­joice,
Now list­en for Thine in­fant voice.

A lit­tle child, Thou art our guest,
That wea­ry ones in Thee may rest;
Forlorn and low­ly is Thy birth;
That we may rise to Hea­ven from earth.

Thou com­est in the dark­some night
To make us child­ren of the light;
To make us, in the realms di­vine,
Like Thine own an­gels round Thee shine.

All this for us Thy love hath done;
By this to Thee our love is won;
For this we tune our cheer­ful lays,
And sing our thanks in cease­less praise.