Oh Sav­ior, whom this ho­ly morn
Gave to our world be­low;
To mor­tal want and la­bor born,
And more than mor­tal woe.

Incarnate Word! by ev­ery grief,
By each temp­ta­tion tried,
Who lived to yield our ills re­lief,
And to re­deem us died!

If gai­ly clothed and proud­ly fed
In dan­ger­ous wealth we dwell,
Remind us of Thy man­ger bed
And lowly cot­tage cell!

If pressed by po­ver­ty se­vere
In en­vi­ous want we pine,
O may Thy Spir­it whis­per near,
How poor a lot was Thine!

Through fic­kle for­tune’s va­ri­ous scene
From sin pre­serve us free!
Like us Thou hast a mourn­er been,
May we re­joice with Thee!