God’s dear Son with­out be­gin­ning
Whom the Jews of old did scorn,
The On­ly Wise with­out all sin­ning
On this bless­èd day was born;
To save us all from sin and thrall,
When we in Sa­tan’s chains were bound,
And shed His blood to do us good,
With ma­ny a pur­ple bleed­ing wound.

Bethlehem, King Da­vid’s ci­ty,
Was His birth­place, as we find,
Who God and man en­dued with pi­ty
Was the Sav­ior of man­kind;
Yet Jew­ry land with cru­el hand,
Both first and last His pow­er en­vied;
When He was born, they did Him scorn,
And showed Him mal­ice when He died.

Princely pal­ace for our Sav­ior
In Ju­dea was not found,
But bless­èd Ma­ry’s meek be­hav­ior
Patiently up­on the ground
Her babe did place in vile dis­grace,
Where ox­en in their stalls did feed;
No mid­wife mild had this sweet Child
No wo­man’s help at mo­ther’s need.

Kingly robes nor gold­en trea­sure
Decked the birth­day of God’s Son;
No pom­pous train at all took plea­sure
To this King of kings to run;
No man­tle brave could Je­sus have
Upon His cra­dle for to lie;
Nor mu­sic’s charms in nurse’s arms
To sing the babe a lul­la­by.

Yet as Ma­ry sat in sol­ace
By our Sav­ior’s first be­gin­ning,
The host of an­gels from God’s pal­ace
Sounded sweet from Hea­ven sing­ing;
Yea, Heav’n and earth for Je­sus’ birth,
With sweet me­lo­di­ous tunes abound,
And ev­ery­thing for Jew­ry’s king,
Upon the earth gave cheer­ful sound.

Now to Him that hath re­deemed us
By His death on Ho­ly Rood,
And though poor sin­ners so es­teemed us,
That He bought us with His blood,
Yield last­ing fame, that still the name
Of Je­sus may be hon­ored here;
And let us say that Christ­mas Day
Is still the best day of the year.