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BETHLEHEM (Frost)

Scripture Verse

Bethlehem Ephratah, though thou be little among the thousands of Judah, yet out of thee shall He come forth unto Me that is to be ruler in Israel; whose goings forth have been from of old, from everlasting. Micah 5:2

Introduction

portrait
Gottfried Fink (1783–1846)

Words: Hen­ry W. Frost, 1901, alt. Af­ter a vi­sit to Beth­le­hem, one bright day in spring. Pub­lished in Frost’s Pilg­rim Songs (New York: Gos­pel Pub­lish­ing House, 1908), pag­es 68–72.

Music: Beth­le­hem (Fink) Gott­fried W. Fink, 1842 (🔊 ).

Alternate Tunes:

portrait
Henry W. Frost (1858–1945)

Lyrics

O Beth­le­hem, sweet Beth­le­hem,
To thee my song I sing;
To thee I raise my hum­ble lay,
Thou ci­ty of the King.
Above thy courts the an­gels sang
Their bright­est ser­aph song,
And, faint­ly ec­ho­ing their re­frain,
I would their praise pro­long.

I see thy wide and wood­ed fields,
Thy roc­ky slopes and hills,
Thy val­leys deep, here wa­ters flow,
In spark­ling, tune­ful rills.
Thy bal­my air is rich with scent,
Of ol­ive and of vine,
Thy trees hang low with rip­ened fruit,
Thy vats o’er­flow with wine.

Thy shep­herd boys, like Da­vid, lead
Their flocks with win­some call,
Across thy up­lands bright, and through
Deep vales here sha­dows fall.
Thy dus­ky men and rud­dy maids
Are scat­tered ’cross the plain—
Where Ruth once fol­lowed Bo­az’ men—
And har­vest gold­en grain.

Thy mo­thers hush their babes to rest,
With hymns of Da­vid’s Lord,
Thy sing how in yon cave He came
To heav’n­ly love af­ford;
The scene is fair, and all is joy
About thy well kept walls;
Yea, sor­rows nev­er touch thy gates,
Thy hearth­stones or thy halls.

Beyond is dark­some Cal­va­ry
And sad Geth­se­ma­ne;
But sha­dows flee, bright Beth­le­hem,
Whene’er they come to thee!
Lo, as I gaze, a vi­sion breaks:
Behold, I see the Child
Lie once again in cave of stone,
All pure and un­de­filed.

The vir­gin mo­ther bends above,
To watch the face di­vine,
From which, so fair and beau­ti­ful,
Bright rays of glo­ry shine;
And oh, what long­ings fill my soul,
As I be­hold my Lord!
I fall and wor­ship at His feet,
My ev­ery sin ab­horred.

And here I pray to be like Him,
A ho­ly in­fant child,
All meek and gen­tle, sweet and good,
All pure and un­de­filed!
And so to thee, O Beth­le­hem,
My song of love I sing;
All praise to thee, sweet Beth­le­hem,
Thou ci­ty of my king!