We sing to Thee, Im­ma­nu­el,
The Prince of Life, sal­va­tion’s well,
The Plant of Hea­ven, the Star of Morn,
The Lord of Lords, the vir­gin born.

All glo­ry, wor­ship, thanks and praise,
That Thou art come in these our days;
Thou hea­ven­ly Guest ex­pect­ed long,
We hail Thee with a joy­ful song.

For Thee, since first the world was made,
Men’s hearts have wait­ed, watch­ed and prayed;
Prophets and pa­tri­archs, year by year,
Have longed to see Thy light ap­pear.

O God—they prayed—from Si­on rise,
And hear Thy cap­tive peo­ple’s cries;
At length, O Lord, sal­va­tion bring,
Then Ja­cob shall re­joice and sing.

Now Thou, by whom the world was made,
Art in Thy man­ger-cra­dle laid;
Maker of all things, great, art small,
Naked Thy­self, though cloth­ing all.

Thou, who both Heav’n and earth dost sway,
In stran­gers’ inn art fain to stay;
And though Thy pow’r makes an­gels blest,
Dost seek Thy food from hu­man breast.

Encouraged thus, our love grows bold
On Thee to lay our stead­fast hold;
The cross which Thou didst un­der­go
Has van­quished death and healed our woe.

Thou art our head—then Lord, of Thee
True, liv­ing mem­bers we will be;
And, in the strength Thy grace shall give,
Will live as Thou wouldst have us live.

As each short year goes quick­ly round,
Our al­le­lu­ias shall re­sound;
And when we reck­on years no more,
May we in Hea­ven Thy name ad­ore.