Christ’s birth­day! soft come float­ing down
The man­ger songs from by­gone years;
Till earth’s white robe new glo­ry wears,
And bright­ly in her shin­ing crown
Each lone­ly star a guide ap­pears.

A guide where ma­ny an in­fant lies,
Born in­to po­ver­ty like Him;
Where plen­ty’s face has ne­ver smiled,
Beneath the light of fad­ing eyes,
Where life’s pale lamp is flick­er­ing, dim.

The man­ger songs! Oh, sweet the lays
Each mo­ther’s lov­ing lips have sung,
’Neath cot­tage roof and pa­lace dome!
Like warb­ling birds in spring’s first days
Back to the ag­èd heart they come.

And soft­ly on the list­en­ing ear
Do an­gel voic­es car­ol still,
Peace on the earth, good will to men
As on the wild Ju­de­an hills;
And wait­ing spir­its breathe, Am­en.

Our birth­day! if we wake to life,
The life that ev­er mov­eth on,
That knows no change of time or death,
But, like a calm stream ’mid earth’s strife,
Mirrors the Heav’n it looks up­on.