1 We celebrate the Praise to Day,
Of Godhead manifest in clay,
And of a Woman born!
The promis'd Son to us is giv'n,
The Glories of indulgent Heav'n,
Our Nature doth adorn.
2 Let it be told to distant Lands,
How softly wrapp'd in Swaddling-Bands,
And in a Manger laid,
Was he, whom we with Joy confess,
The glorious Lord, our RIGHTEOUSNESS!
Born of a favour'd Maid.
3 Long did the Saints with Ardour sigh
To see his Day, and thus did cry,
Desire of nations come:
More blest are we who see and prove
The Fulness of the Father's Love,
Born from the Virgin's Womb!
4 The Lord himself hath giv'n the Sign
Of richest Grace, and love divine,
Promise'd of old to Man;
How that a Virgin should conceive:
The wond'rous Tidings we believe,
And praise her first-born Son.
5 We join with Angel-Hosts to cry,
Glory to God, to God on high;
Peace on rebellious Earth:
To Man Good-will abounds from Heav'n;
The Proof of all is richly giv'n
In this mysterious Birth!
6 What Things are these which Angels say?
A Saviour born! yea, born to Day,
In David's native Town:
A Saviour, who is Christ the Lord;
For so declares the heavenly Word;
Hear, wonder, and bow dwon!
7 The Wonderful, the holy Child,
The everlasting Father stil'd,
The mighty God art thou;
The Counsellor, the Prince of Peace,
Whose glorious Kingdom ne'er shall cease,
Nor Wars, nor Tumults know.
8 The Cloud on our Nativity
Dispels in this thy Mystery,
Thou holy, undefil'd:
Our sinful Nature's born again
In this thy Birth, without a Stain,
And can no more be spoil'd.