At the birth of Christ our king,
Angels made the heav­ens ring,
Singing with a so­lemn joy,
Glory to the Lord on high.

In an­gel­ic heights of bliss,
They His ma­jes­ty con­fess;
Ravished with so grand a scene,
They re­new their songs to Him.

Glory in the high­est height,
Blazing with ma­jes­tic light,
Shine in Da­vid’s root and rod,
The in­car­nate Son of God.

Nature in its bright­est glow,
Never can such glo­ry show;
Here alone, the great Three-One,
Put Their bright­est glo­ries on.

O the won­ders of God’s ways,
Here I AM, Him­self dis­plays;
And in spite of hell and sin,
Here His hon­ors He’ll main­tain.

Sinners here by faith may view,
What Om­ni­po­tence can do;
And in mea­sures sweet­ly trace,
The rich trea­sures of this grace.

Come, ye mourn­ing souls, re­joice,
Look, and with a cheer­ful voice,
Sing the hon­ors of your God,
Blazing in th’in­car­nate word.

Soon the whole elect shall know
All the glo­ry God can show;
And in bliss im­mor­tal sing,
Hallelujahs to their king.