Come, Ye Redeemèd of the Lord

Come

ye re­deem­èd of the Lord

Your grate­ful trib­ute bring;

And ce­le­brate with one ac­cord

The birth­day of our king.

Let us with hum­ble hearts re­pair—

Faith will point out the road—

To little Beth­le­hem; and there

Adore our in­fant God.

In swad­dling bands the Sav­ior view!

Let none this weak­ness scorn;

The feeb­lest heart shall hell sub­due

Where Je­sus Christ is born.

No pomp ad­orns

no sweets per­fume

The place where Christ is laid;

The sta­ble serves Him for His room;

A man­ger is His bed.

The crowded inn

like sin­ners’ hearts—

O ig­no­rance ex­treme!

For oth­er guests of va­ri­ous sorts

Had room; but none for Him.

But see what dif­fer­ent thoughts arise

In ours and an­gels’ breasts:

To hail His birth they left the skies;

We lodged Him with the beasts.

Yet let be­liev­ers cease their fears

Nor en­vy heav’n­ly pow­ers;

If sin­less in­no­cence be theirs

Redemption all is ours.