Now praise we Christ, the Ho­ly One,
The bless­èd vir­gin Ma­ry’s son,
Far as the glo­ri­ous sun doth shine,
E’en to the world’s re­mote con­fine.

He who Him­self all things did make
A ser­vant’s form vouch­safed to take
That He as man man­kind might win
And save His crea­tures from their sin.

The grace and pow­er of God the Lord
Upon the mo­ther was out­poured;
A vir­gin pure and un­de­filed
In won­drous wise con­ceived a child.

The ho­ly maid be­came th’ab­ode
And tem­ple of the liv­ing God,
And she, who knew not man, was blest
With God’s own Word made ma­ni­fest.

The no­ble mo­ther bore a son—
For so did Ga­bri­el’s pro­mise run—
Whom John con­fessed and leaped with joy
Ere yet the mo­ther knew her boy.

Upon a man­ger filled with hay
In po­ver­ty con­tent He lay;
With milk was fed the Lord of all,
Who feeds the ra­vens when they call.

The heav’n­ly choirs re­joice and raise
Their voice to God in songs of praise.
To hum­ble shep­herds is pro­claimed
The Shep­herd who the world hath framed.

All hon­or un­to Christ be paid,
Pure off­spring of the fa­vored maid,
With Fa­ther and with Ho­ly Ghost,
Till time in end­less time be lost.