Great King! from Heav’n’s
High throne des­cend­ing low,
In Beth­le­hem’s sta­ble
Born in cold and woe,
Thou shiv­er­est in
A man­ger, Babe di­vine,
Much hast Thou borne
For sins: how much for mine!

The world’s cre­at­or
Thou, our God adored,
Thou suf­fer­est cold and want,
O hum­bled Lord!
Dear chos­en Child!
When love trans­forms Thee so,
For Thee my heart
The more with love shall glow.

In joy re­pos­ing
On Thy Fa­ther’s breast,
How can a couch of straw
Afford Thee rest?
Sweet love, thus pained,
Inflame my froz­en heart,
Jesus! to me
Thy pur­est love im­part.

If thus to suf­fer
Was Thy gra­cious will,
Yet, lov­ing Sav­ior!
Let me ask Thee still,
What could Thy bliss­ful
Soul to suf­fer­ing move?
Thou weep­est—
Not for grief—Ah no! for love.

Thou griev­est,
After all Thy love, to see
Thyself so lit­tle loved,
O God, by me;
Yet if the past
So lit­tle love has shown,
I love Thee now,
O Je­sus, Thee alone.

Thou sleepest,
Holy In­fant! but Thou art
For us still wake­ful
In Thy ten­der heart:
Tell me, O beau­te­ous Lamb!
Say what may be
Thy thoughts?—I hear thee lisp:
To die for thee.

Thou dwell­est
On Thy death for me, with joy;
Who then, save Thee,
Shall all my thoughts em­ploy?
Mary, my hope!
If less I love your Son,
O love Him you for me,
And all is done.