No room in the inn for the tra­vel­ers weary,
Though hun­gry and thirs­ty and foot­sore they be;
The child­ren of Da­vid, in Da­vid’s own ci­ty,
They come to en­roll at the Cae­sar’s de­cree.

No place but the sta­ble for Jo­seph and Ma­ry,
Although they are owned of the true roy­al line;
They turn from the inn, from its warmth and its plen­ty,
To rest for the night with the ass­es and kine.

Oh, had the host known,
Though the inn was o’er­crowd­ed,
Who sought in his hos­tel for shel­ter and rest,
The fair­est guest cham­ber had been for the stran­gers,
And he had pro­vid­ed for them of his best!

For in the rude sta­ble, where stars were all shin­ing,
The Lord of the an­gels took up His abode,
The Babe in the man­ger so calm­ly re­pos­ing,
Was Is­ra­el’s Mes­si­ah, the dear Son of God.

We join with the an­gels in giv­ing God glo­ry;
From Christ­mas to Christ­mas the sto­ry re­peat,
How Je­sus was laid, a fair babe in the man­ger,
And hast­en with shep­herds to kneel at His feet.

All glo­ry, all glo­ry to God in the high­est,
All glo­ry to Je­sus for His low­ly birth!
With hearts full of joy we re-echo with glad­ness,
Good will be to men, and sweet peace up­on earth.