He com­eth, Fa­ther, as He came of old
’Neath earth­ly veil con­cealed from mor­tal sight,
Though now we hear no an­gel harps of gold,
Nor see the glo­ry of the heav­en­ly light:
Look Thou in love, as on that won­drous birth
On this, His good will gift of peace to earth.

Thou com­est, Lord, and as in Beth­le­hem’s stall
Our gifts and greet­ings here we of­fer Thee.
Here spread a veil, then low ador­ing fall,
Where as in Ma­ry’s arms by faith we see
God’s high­est glo­ry, gra­cious­ly en­shrined
In this Thy gift of peace to all man­kind.

He com­eth! Spir­it blest, Thy truth im­part,
Brooding in love up­on the bread and wine,
Make them, we pray, make ev­ery faith­ful heart,
Like Ma­ry’s, meet to hold the Guest di­vine,
God’s high­est glo­ry veiled from mor­tal ken
In this, His pro­mised gift of peace to men.

He com­eth, Fa­ther, here to seek His own,
Thy Word made flesh—He deigns ’mid us to dwell
Thou com­est, Lord, from Thine eter­nal throne
By Thy sweet Spir­it’s pow­er, Em­ma­nu­el,
And round Thy feet, we hymn Thy glo­ry still
With an­gel songs of peace and great good-will.