A shout of migh­ty tri­umph
Through na­ture’s realm is heard,
A shout which calls cre­ation
To hail th’In­car­nate Word.
Away with clouds and dark­ness!
All hail, thrice bless­èd morn;
Sing out with joy, ye mor­tals,
For Je­sus Christ is born!

Is this, ye ho­ly shep­herds,
The migh­ty new­born King?
This Child, so sweet and gen­tle,
Can He such rap­ture bring?
O yes! He comes, the Sav­ior
Of sin­ful earth for­lorn;
Then shout with joy, ye mor­tals,
For Je­sus Christ is born!

The cru­el, cru­el foe­man
This Child shall ov­er­throw;
Full soon, the fierce de­stroy­er,
His Lord’s stern might shall know:
Of all his boast­ed pow­er
Soon to be rough­ly shorn;
Then shout with joy, ye mor­tals,
For Je­sus Christ is born!

But say, sweet vir­gin mo­ther,
The Child up­on thy breast,
Will He re­ceive young child­ren,
And share with them His rest?
O yes! He will with glo­ry
Both old and young ad­orn;
Then shout with joy, ye mor­tals,
For Je­sus Christ is born!

Rejoice then, youths and maid­ens,
Old men and child­ren, too;
Lift up your cheer­ful voic­es,
With bliss and rap­ture true!
Ring out, ye tow­ers and stee­ples!
Blow, trum­pet, pipe and horn!
Then shout with joy, ye mor­tals,
For Je­sus Christ is born!