Once in roy­al Dav­id’s ci­ty
Stood a low­ly cat­tle shed,
Where a mo­ther laid her ba­by
In a man­ger for His bed:
Mary was that mo­ther mild,
Jesus Christ her lit­tle child.

He came down to earth from Hea­ven,
Who is God and Lord of all,
And His shel­ter was a sta­ble,
And His cra­dle was a stall;
With the poor, and mean, and low­ly,
Lived on earth our Sav­ior ho­ly.

And, through all His won­drous child­hood,
He would hon­or and ob­ey,
Love and watch the low­ly maid­en,
In whose gen­tle arms He lay:
Christian child­ren all must be
Mild, obe­di­ent, good as He.

For He is our child­hood’s pat­tern;
Day by day, like us He grew;
He was lit­tle, weak and help­less,
Tears and smiles like us He knew;
And He feel­eth for our sad­ness,
And He shar­eth in our glad­ness.

And our eyes at last shall see Him,
Through His own re­deem­ing love,
For that Child so dear and gen­tle
Is our Lord in Heav’n above,
And He leads His child­ren on
To the place where He is gone.

Not in that poor low­ly sta­ble,
With the ox­en stand­ing by,
We shall see Him; but in Hea­ven,
Set at God’s right hand on high;
Where like stars His child­ren crowned
All in white shall wait around.