In hymns of praise, eter­nal God!
When Thy cre­at­ing hand
Stretched out the arch of Heav’n abroad,
And met­ed sea and land,
The morn­ing stars to­ge­ther sung,
And shouts of joy from an­gels sung.

The Earth’s prime hour, more joy­ous far
Was that ev­ent­ful morn,
When bril­liant beam from Beth­le­hem’s star
Announced a Sav­ior born!
Then sweet­er strains from Hea­ven be­gan—
Glory to God—good will to man.

Babe of the man­ger! Can it be?
Art Thou the Son of God?
Shall sub­ject na­tions bow the knee,
And kings ob­ey Thy nod?
Shall thrones and mon­archs pros­trate fall
Before the ten­ant of a stall?

’Tis He! the hymn­ing ser­aphs cry,
While hov’ring, drawn to earth;
’Tis He! the shep­herds’ songs reply,
Hail! hail Em­ma­nu­el’s birth!
The rod of peace those hands shall bear,
That brow a crown of glo­ry wear!

’Tis He! the east­ern sag­es sing,
And spread their gold­en hoard;
’Tis He! the hills of Si­on ring,
Hosanna to the Lord!
The Prince of long pro­phet­ic years
Today in Beth­le­hem ap­pears!

He comes! The Con­quer­or’s march be­gins,
No blood His ban­ner stains;
He comes to save the world from sins,
And break the cap­tive’s chains!
The poor, the sick, and blind shall bless
The Prince of Peace and Right­eous­ness.

Though now in swad­dling-clothes He lies,
All hearts His pow­er shall own,
When He, with le­gions of the skies,
The clouds of Heav’n His throne,
Shall come to judge the quick and dead,
And strike a trem­bling world with dread.