The ho­ly Son of God most high,
For love of Ad­am’s laps­èd race,
Quit the sweet plea­sures of the sky
To bring us to that hap­py place.

His robes of light He laid aside,
Which did His ma­jes­ty adorn,
And the frail state of mor­tals tried,
In hu­man flesh and fig­ure born.

Down from above this Day-Star slid,
Himself in liv­ing earth t’en­tomb,
And all His heav’n­ly glo­ry hid
In a pure low­ly vir­gin’s womb.

Whole choirs of an­gels loud­ly sing
The mys­te­ry of His sac­red birth,
And the blest news to shep­herds bring,
Filling their watch­ful souls with mirth.

The Son of God thus man be­came,
That men the sons of God might be,
And by their se­cond birth re­gain
A like­ness to His de­ity.

Lord, give us hum­ble and pure minds,
And fill us with Thy heav’n­ly love,
That Christ thus in our hearts en­shrined
We all may be born from above.

And be­ing thus re­ge­ne­rate,
Into a life and sense di­vine
We all un­god­li­ness may hate,
And to Thy liv­ing Word in­cline.

That nour­ished by that heav’n­ly food
To man­ly sta­ture we may grow,
And stead­fast­ly pur­sue what’s good,
That all our des­cent may know.

Grant we, Thy seed, may ne­ver yield
Our souls to soil with any blot,
But still stand con­quer­ors in the field,
To show His pow’r who us be­got.

That af­ter this our war­fare’s done,
And tra­vails or a toil­some stage,
We may in Heav’n, with Christ Thy Son,
Enjoy our pro­mised he­ri­tage.