Awake, awake the sacr­ed song,
To our in­car­nate Lord;
Let ev­ery heart and ev­ery tongue
Adore th’eter­nal Word.

That aw­ful Word, that so­ver­eign pow­er,
By whom the worlds were made;
(O hap­py morn, il­lus­tri­ous hour!)
Was once in flesh ar­rayed.

Then shone al­migh­ty pow­er and love,
In all their glo­ri­ous forms,
When Je­sus left His throne ab­ove,
To dwell with sin­ful worms.

To dwell with mi­se­ry be­low,
The Sav­ior left the skies,
And sunk to wretch­ed­ness and woe,
That worth­less man might rise.

Adoring an­gels tuned their songs
To hail the joy­ful day;
With rap­ture then let mor­tal tongues
Their grate­ful wor­ship pay.

What glo­ry, Lord, to Thee is due?
With won­der we adore;
But could we sing as an­gels do,
Our high­est praise were poor.