Come, Thou Re­deem­er of the earth,
Come, tes­ti­fy Thy vir­gin birth:
All lands ad­mire—all times ap­plaud:
Such is the birth that fits a God.

Begotten of no hu­man will,
But of the Spir­it, mys­tic still,
The Word of God, in flesh ar­rayed,
The pro­mised fruit to man dis­played.

The vir­gin womb that bur­den gained
With vir­gin hon­or all un­stained;
The ban­ners there of vir­tue glow;
God in His tem­ple dwells be­low.

Proceeding from His cham­ber free
That roy­al home of chas­ti­ty,
Giant of two­fold sub­stance, straight
His des­tined way He runs elate.

From God the Fa­ther He pro­ceeds,
To God the Fa­ther back He speeds;
Proceeds as far as ve­ry hell,
Speeds back to light in­ef­fa­ble.

O eq­ual to the Fa­ther, Thou!
Gird on Thy flesh­ly man­tle now;
The weak­ness of our mor­tal state
With death­less might in­vi­go­rate.

Thy cra­dle here shall glit­ter bright,
And dark­ness breathe a new­er light,
Where end­less faith shall shine se­rene,
And twil­ight ne­ver in­ter­vene.

All hon­or, laud and glo­ry be,
O Je­su, vir­gin born, to Thee!
All glo­ry, as is ev­er meet,
To Fa­ther and to Pa­ra­clete.