In sta­ture grows the heav’nly Child,
With death be­fore His eyes;
A lamb un­blem­ished, meek and mild,
Prepared for sac­ri­fice.

The Son of God His glo­ry hides
With par­ents mean and poor;
And He who made the heav’n abides
In dwell­ing place ob­scure.

Those migh­ty hands that stay the sky
No earth­ly toil re­fuse;
And He who set the stars on high
A hum­ble trade pur­sues.

He be­fore whom the an­gels stand,
At whose be­hest they fly,
Now yields Him­self to man’s com­mand,
And lays His glo­ry by.

Jesu, the vir­gin’s holy son,
We praise Thee and adore,
Who art with God the Fa­ther One,
And Spir­it ev­er­more.