O Je­sus Christ, Thy man­ger is
My pa­ra­dise at which my soul re­clin­eth.
For there, O Lord, doth lie the Word
Made flesh for us;
Herein Thy grace forth­shin­eth.

He whom the sea and wind ob­ey
Doth come to serve the sin­ner in great meek­ness.
Thou, God’s own Son, with us art one,
Dost join us and our child­ren in our weak­ness.

Thy light and grace our guilt ef­face,
Thy hea­ven­ly rich­es all our loss re­triev­ing.
Immanuel, Thy birth doth quell
The pow­er of hell and Sa­tan’s bold de­ceiv­ing.

Thou Chris­tian heart, whoe’er thou art,
Be of good cheer and let no sor­row move thee!
For God’s own Child, in mer­cy mild,
Joins thee to Him—
How great­ly God must love thee!

Remember thou what glo­ry now
The Lord pre­pared thee for all earth­ly sad­ness.
The an­gel host can ne­ver boast
Of great­er glo­ry, great­er bliss or glad­ness.

The world may hold her wealth and gold;
But thou, my heart,
Keep Christ as thy true trea­sure.
To Him hold fast un­til at last
A crown be thine and hon­or in full mea­sure.