Sent from His heav’n­ly throne on high,
Let all the world be­neath the sky
Adore the Sav­ior new­ly come,
The Prince born to­day of vir­gin womb.

He who cre­at­ed Hea­ven and earth
Is cloth­èd in frame of mor­tal birth;
That flesh by flesh may be set free,
Nor His own crea­tures rui­ned be.

The Word which ere time’s course be­gan,
Forth from His Fa­ther’s bo­som ran,
Obedient now to time and to death
A help­less In­fant draws its breath.

On straw the Al­migh­ty lays His head,
Nor spurns the man­ger for His bed;
And He who all cre­ation feeds
The milk of hu­man mo­ther needs.

They guide the star­ry spheres, those hands
That now are wrapped in swath­ing bands;
All weak and weep­ing there He lies,
That He may raise us to the skies.

Hope of the whole wide earth, that Child,
Who calls us to His cra­dle mild,
How of such love our fit­ness prove
Save by re­turn of an­swer­ing love?

All hon­or, laud and glo­ry be
O Je­sus, Ma­ry’s Son, to Thee;
To Fa­ther and the Spir­it praise
Now and through end­less length of days.