1 O sight of anguish! view it near,
What weeping innocence is here,
A manger for his bed!
The brutes yield refuge to his woe,
Men the worst brutes no pity show,
Nor give him friendly aid.
2 Why do no rapid thunders roll?
Why do no tempests rock the pole?
O miracle of grace!
Or why no angels on the wing,
Warm for the honors of their King,
To punish all the race?
3 Though now an infant bath'd in tears,
He call'd to form the rolling spheres;
And seraphs own'd his nod.
Helpless he calls, but men delay;
And guilty sinners disobey
The earth-born Son of God.
4 Say, radiant seraphs, thron'd in light,
Did love e'er tow'r so high a flight,
Or glory sink so low?
This wonder angels scarce declare
Angels the rapture scarce can bear,
Or equal praise bestow.
5 Redemption! 'tis a boundless theme!
Thou boundless mind, our hearts inflame
With ardor from above.
Words are but faint, let joy express;
Vain is mere joy, let actions bless
This prodigy of love.