Lightly bound my bo­som, ring­ing
Joyous lays, when in praise
Angels all are sing­ing,
List! O list the swell­ing chor­us:
Christ is born! this fair morn
Fills the wel­kin o’er us.

Forth to­day the Con­quer­or go­eth,
Who the foe, sin and woe,
Death and hell o’er­throw­eth.
God with man be­comes unit­ed,
Flesh is made for our aid,
Healing all that’s blight­ed.

Shall we still dread God’s dis­plea­sure,
Who to save free­ly gave
Us His dea­rest trea­sure?
Who from all the ills that grieve us
In His love from above
Sends Him to re­lieve us?

Should He, who Him­self im­par­ted,
Aught with­hold from the fold,
Leave us brok­en-heart­ed?
Should the Son of God not love us,
Who to cheer suf­fer­ers here
Left His throne above us?

If our bless­èd Lord and mak­er
Hated men, would He then
Be of flesh par­tak­er?
If He in our woe de­light­ed,
Would He bear all the care
Of our race be­night­ed?

He be­comes the Lamb that tak­eth
Sin away, and for aye
Full atone­ment mak­eth.
For our life His own He ten­ders,
And our race, by His grace,
Meet for glo­ry ren­ders.

Lowly lies He in the man­ger,
And to all sends the call:
Ye are freed from an­ger—
Cease your wail­ing in your weak­ness,
All your stains, all your pains,
I have borne in meek­ness.

Come, then, ban­ish all your sad­ness,
One and all, great and small,
Come with songs of glad­ness;
Love Him who with love is glow­ing,
View the star, near and far
Light and joy be­stow­ing.

Ye whose ang­uish knew no mea­sure,
Grieve no more, see the door
To ce­les­ti­al plea­sure:
Come, He will your jour­ney glad­den
To the rest of the blest,
Where no sin shall sad­den.

Ye whom con­science sore­ly trou­bles,
All whose toil, pain to foil,
But its wrath re­dou­bles,
Hither come with all your bruis­es,
Here is One who to none
Healing balm re­fus­es.

Come all ye whom want op­press­es,
Here beho­ld gems and gold,
All He free­ly bless­es.
Come and taste that He is gra­cious—
To our hearts He im­parts
Jewels rare and pre­cious.

Let me in my arms re­ceive Thee,
On Thy breast let me rest,
Savior, ne’er to leave Thee!
Since Thou hast Thy­self pre­sent­ed
Now to me, I shall be
Evermore con­tent­ed.

Now that Thou my na­ture wear­est
Guilt no more racks me sore—
Thou its bur­den bear­est.
Now from ev­ery spot and wrin­kle
I am free, since Thou me
With Thy blood dost sprin­kle.

I am pure in Thee, be­liev­ing,
From Thy store ev­er­more
Richest robes re­ceiv­ing.
In my heart I will en­fold Thee,
Treasure rare! Let me there
Raptured ev­er hold Thee!

Thee I will de­part from ne­ver
While I’ve breath, nor shall death
From Thy love me sev­er!
And in Heav’n, by saints sur­round­ed,
I shall be still with Thee,
Tasting bliss un­bound­ed!