The sin­ful earth was sunk in woe:
No arm was found of pow­er to save;
The Son of God ap­peared below,
To con­quer death and spoil the grave.
His mo­ther was a low­ly maid
Of Da­vid’s lin­eage, un­de­filed;
Her in­fant on her breast she laid,
To sight a meek and help­less child.

An an­gel bade the shep­herds bless
That ho­ly Child to mor­tals given;
And o’er Him lin­gered mo­tion­less
A star that lit the night­ly hea­ven.
Lo, with that an­gel hea­ven’s high­est
Sang chor­al chant in bright ar­ray;
Lo, by that star the Ho­ly Ghost
Brought east­ern sag­es where He lay.

The words of truth His good­ness tell;
For us He lived, He died, He broke
The chains of sin, the gates of hell,
And bade us wear His ea­sy yoke.
Then make we not of none ef­fect
His love in Hea­ven, His woes on earth,
But hail to­day with His elect
The joy­ful tid­ings of His birth.