Blest Christ­mas morn, though mur­ky clouds
Pursue thy way,
Thy light was born where storm en­shrouds
Nor dawn nor day.

Dear Christ, for­ev­er here and near,
No cra­dle song
No na­tal hour and mo­ther’s tear
To Thee be­long.

Thou God-idea, Life encrowned,
The Beth­le­hem Babe—
Beloved, re­plete, by flesh em­bound—
Was but Thy shade!

Thou gen­tle beam of liv­ing Love,
And death­less Life!
Truth in­fi­nite—so far above
All mor­tal strife,

Or cru­el creed, or earth-born taint:
Fill us to­day
With all Thou art—be Thou our saint,
Our stay, al­way.