We’ll sing, in spite of scorn:
Our theme is come from Heav’n:
To us a child is born,
To us a son is giv’n;
The sweet­est news that ev­er came
We’ll sing, though all the world should blame.

The long ex­pect­ed morn
Has dawned up­on the earth;
The Sav­ior Christ is born,
And an­gels sing His birth:
We’ll join the bright se­ra­phic throng,
We’ll share their joys, and swell their song.

O! ’tis a lof­ty theme,
Supplied by an­gels’ tongues!
All oth­er ob­jects seem
Unworthy of our songs.
This sac­red theme has bound­less charms,
It fills, it cap­ti­vates, it warms.

Now sing of peace di­vine,
Of grace to gui­lty man;
No wis­dom, Lord, but Thine
Could form the won­drous plan;
Where peace and right­eous­ness em­brace,
And jus­tice goes along with grace.

Give praise to God on high,
With an­gels round His throne;
Give praise to God with joy,
Give praise to God alone!
’Tis meet His saints their songs should raise,
And give the Sav­ior end­less praise.