Make thee rea­dy, as best thou art able,
Little Beth­le­hem, gar­nish the bed,
Tho’ it be but a crib in a sta­ble,
Where the In­fant may pil­low His head,
Where the In­fant may pil­low His head.

Type and sha­dow of yore are now end­ed;
Lo, the sub­stance is come, as I ken;
Truth in­car­nate to earth is des­cend­ed,
God hath pitch­èd His tent among men.
God hath pitch­èd His tent among men.

He is past through the vir­gin­al por­tal;
The In­vi­si­ble doth not de­cline
To be found in the fa­shion of mor­tal,
For to make hu­man na­ture di­vine,
For to make hu­man nat­ure di­vine.

Wherefore Ad­am and Eva, for­giv­en
Their in­iq­ui­ty cry, By the grace
And good­will of our Lord are we shriv­en;
Seen of men, He doth ran­som our race;
Seen of men, He doth ran­som our race.