Behold that splen­dor, hear the shout,
Heav’n op­ens, an­gels is­sue out,
And throng the ne­ther sky;
What joy­ful tid­ings do they bring,
Rapt at the ap­proach of Is­ra­el’s king!
They speak their mon­arch nigh.

Why doth the King ap­proach our land?
Comes He with ter­ror in His hand,
The mer­its of our crimes?
Shepherds be glad, He comes with peace,
Not wrath but uni­ver­sal grace,
To bless earth’s dist­ant climes.

See Heav’n’s great heir, a vir­gin’s son,
Behold a man­ger for His throne,
Though spot­less He must die;
Your is the guilt, but His the pain,
His is the sor­row, yours the gain,
Then let His praise be high.