O Christ­mas night! Day’s light trans­cend­ing,
Who no be­gin­ning had or end
Till He a man be­came, was God.
Then He who ne’er be­fore was hu­man
Was born in Beth­le­hem of wo­man,
When nips the frost the ver­dant sod.

This rich­est Babe comes poor in be­ing,
More pearled with­in than to the see­ing
With dia­dem and roy­al pow­er;
He takes no heed of great­er plac­es,
But that small spot alone em­brac­es,
Where light il­lumes the mid­night hour.

This Prince, do they de­sire to find Him?
They’re worn out swad­dling clothes that bind Him.
A man­ger, spread with hay’s His bed.
His throne is high­er than the high­est,
Yet He among the cat­tle li­eth;
What Him to such a lot has led?

Now seeks He God with chaste af­fect­ion
Who takes be­fore such crib di­rect­ion,
Are bet­ter than this Beth­le­hem,
Which Christ no rest­ing place shall give;
For they, the af­ter life, shall live
With Him, in Je­ru­sa­lem.