Lo! He comes, an in­fant stran­ger,
Of a low­ly mo­ther born;
Swathed and cra­dled in a man­ger,
Of His pris­tine glo­ry shorn!
Alleluia! Al­le­lu­ia! Al­le­lu­ia!
Praise ye God’s in­car­nate Son.
Lo! He comes, the great Cre­at­or,
Calling all the world’s to own
Him the Judge and Lord of na­ture,
Seated on His Fa­ther’s throne!
Alleluia! Al­le­lu­ia! Al­le­lu­ia!
Praise ye Him the Liv­ing One!

Lo! He comes to man un­friend­ed,
Fain with sta­bled beasts to rest;
Shepherds who their night-fold tend­ed,
Hailed alone the new­born Guest!
Alleluia! Al­le­lu­ia! Al­le­lu­ia!
Praise ye Jes­se’s ten­der rod!
Lo! He comes, around Him pour­ing
All the ar­mies of the sky;
Cherub, se­raph hosts ador­ing,
Swell His state and loud­ly cry,
Al­le­lu­ia! Al­le­lu­ia! Al­le­lu­ia!
Praise ye Christ the Son of God.

Lo! He comes con­strained to bor­row
Shelter from yon sta­bled shed;
He who shall through years of sor­row
Have not where to lay His head!
Alleluia! Al­le­lu­ia! Al­le­lu­ia!
Praise Him, slight­ed by His own!
Lo! He comes, all grief ex­pel­ling
From the hearts that Him re­ceive;
He to each with Him a dwell­ing
In His Fa­ther’s house will give!
Alleluia! Al­le­lu­ia! Al­le­lu­ia!
Praise Him on the glo­ry throne!

Man of hu­man flesh par­tak­ing,
Offspring of the vir­gin’s womb,
Who, the hope­less wan­d’rer seek­ing,
Deigned in low­ly guise to come!
Alleluia! Al­le­lu­ia! Al­le­lu­ia!
Praise ye the in­car­nate Word,
Son of the eter­nal Fa­ther,
Who again in power shall come;
Round Him shall the na­tions ga­ther,
Finding life, or wait­ing doom!
Alleluia! Al­le­lu­ia! Al­le­lu­ia!
Praise ye Him the liv­ing Word!