God, in hu­man flesh ap­pear­ing,
Took the child­ren to His breast,
Lambs with His green pas­tures cheer­ing,
Fitting for His heav’n­ly rest;
This is gen­tle­ness un­bound­ed,
This is low­li­ness of heart;
All are by His love sur­round­ed,
None are ev­er bid de­part.

Lord! I bless Thy mer­cy end­less,
For Thy plea­sure is to bless;
Me, too, when my soul was friend­less,
Thou didst to Thy bo­som press:
For I, too, to Thee was giv­en
In the pure bap­tis­mal wave,
There Thou mad’st me heir of Heav­en,
Who hast died my soul to save.

Feeble is the love of mo­ther,
Father’s bless­ings are as naught,
When com­pared, my king and brother,
With the won­ders Thou hast wrought;
Thus it pleased Thy heav’n­ly meek­ness;
Pleasing al­so be my praise,
Till my songs of earth­ly weak­ness
Burst in­to ce­les­tial lays.