1 We sing, Immanuel, Thy praise,
Thou Prince of Life and Fount of grace,
Thou Flow'r of heav'n and Star of morn,
Thou Lord of lords, Thou Virgin-born.
2 For Thee, since first the world was made
So many hearts have watched and prayed;
The patriarchs' and prophets' throng
For Thee have hoped and waited long.
3 Now art Thou here, Thou Ever-blest!
In lowly manger dost Thou rest.
Thou, making all things great, art small;
So poor art Thou, yet clothest all.
4 From Thee above all gladness flows,
Yet Thou must bear such bitter woes;
The Gentiles' Light and Hope Thou art,
Yet findest none to soothe Thine heart.
5 But I, Thy servant, Lord, today
Confess my love and freely say,
I love Thee truly, but I would
That I might love Thee as I should.
6 I have the will, the pow'r is weak;
Yet, Lord, my humble off'ring take
And graciously thy love receive
Which my poor heart to Thee can give.
7 Had I no load of sin to bear,
Thy grace, O Lord, I could not share;
In vain hadst Thou been born for me
If from God's wrath I had been free.
8 Thus will I sing Thy praises here
With joyful spirit year by year;
And when we reckon years no more,
May I in heav'n Thy name adore!