Come, list­en to the sto­ry
Of Je­su’s birth, of Je­su’s birth;
How Christ, the King of glo­ry,
Came down to earth, came down to earth;
Left Heav’n all pure and ho­ly
To do God’s will, to do God’s will;
Who with the meek and low­ly,
Is dwell­ing still, is dwell­ing still.

Behold! while earth is sleep­ing
Amid the snows, amid the snows;
While an­gels watch are keep­ing,
There blooms a Rose, there blooms a Rose;
And Ma­ry makes a bow­er
Within her breast, with­in her breast;
For that ce­les­ti­al Flow­er,
Her Sav­ior blest, her Sav­ior blest.

And ere the morn is break­ing
Across the world, across the world;
The shep­herds, flocks for­sak­ing,
With won­der bold, with won­der bold;
Draw near in ado­ra­tion
Their praise to pour, their praise to pour;
To offer an ob­la­tion
That Babe be­fore, that Babe be­fore.

So runs the Gos­pel sto­ry
Of that sweet morn, of that sweet morn;
Ere found the Rose’s glo­ry
Had tar­ried the thorn, had tar­ried the thorn;
And now to Hea­ven trans­plant­ed
Its bliss to share, its bliss to share;
Our God, to us hath grant­ed,
Hereafter there, here­af­ter there.