Sing, ye ran­somed na­tions, sing
Praises to our new-born king;
Son of Man our mak­er is,
Lord of Hosts and Prince of Peace.

Lo! He lays His glo­ry by,
Emptied of His ma­jes­ty!
See the God who all things made,
Humbly in a man­ger laid.

Cast we off our need­less fear,
Boldly to His cratch draw near;
Jesus is our flesh and bone,
God with us is all our own.

Let us then with an­gels gaze
On our new-born mon­arch’s face,
With the choir ce­les­ti­al joined,
Shout the Sav­ior of man­kind.

Son of Man, will He des­pise
Man’s well mean­ing sac­ri­fice?
No; with con­des­cend­ing grace
He accepts His crea­tures’ praise.

Will His ma­jes­ty dis­dain
The poor shep­herd’s sim­ple strain?
No; for Is­rael’s shep­herd He
Loves their art­less me­lo­dy.

He will not re­fuse the song
Of the stam­mer­ing in­fant’s tongue;
Babes He hears hu­mane­ly mild,
Once Him­self a lit­tle child.

Let us then our Prince pro­claim,
Humbly chant Im­ma­nu­el’s name;
Publish at His won­drous birth
Praise in Hea­ven and peace on earth.

Triumph in our Sav­ior’s love,
Till He takes us up above,
All His ma­jes­ty dis­plays,
Shows us all His glo­ri­ous face.