Though rude winds ush­er thee, sweet day,
Though clouds thy face de­form,
Though na­ture’s grace be swept away
Before thy sleety storm;
E’en in thy som­brest win­try vest,
Of bless­èd days thou art most blest.

Not fri­gid air nor gloomy morn
Shall check our ju­bi­lee;
Bright is the day when Christ was born;
No sun need shine, but He:
Let rough­est storms their cold­est blow,
With love of Him our hearts shall glow.

Inspired with high and ho­ly thought,
Fancy is on the wing;
It seems as to mine ear it brought
Those voices car­ol­ing,
Voices through Heav’n and earth that ran,
Glory to God, good­will to man.

I see the shep­herds gaz­ing wild
At those fair spir­its of light;
I see them bend­ing o’er the Child
With that un­told de­light
Which marks the face who view
Things but too hap­py to be true.

There in the low­ly man­ger laid
Incarnate God they see;
He stoops to take through spot­less maid
Our frail hu­ma­ni­ty;
Son of high God, cre­ation’s heir,
He leaves His Hea­ven to raise us here.

Through Him, O Lord, we’re born anew,
Thy child­ren once again,
Oh, day by day, our hearts re­new,
That Thine we may re­main,
And, ang­el-like, may all agree,
One sweet and ho­ly fa­mi­ly.

Oft as this joy­ous morn doth come
To speak our Sav­ior’s love,
Oh, may it bear our spir­its home
Where He now reigns above;
That day which brought Him from the skies
So man re­stores to pa­ra­dise.

Then let winds ush­er thee, sweet day,
Let clouds thy face de­form,
Though na­ture’s grace is swept away
Before thy sleety storm;
E’en i thy som­brest win­try vest,
Of bless­èd days thou art most blest.