Dost Thou in a Manger Lie?

Dost Thou in a man­ger lie

who hast all cre­at­ed

Stretching in­fant hands on high

Sav­ior

long await­ed?

If a mo­narch

where Thy state? Where Thy court on Thee to wait?

Royal pur­ple where? Here no re­gal pomp we see;

Naught but need and pe­nu­ry; why thus cra­dled here?

Pitying love for fall­en man brought Me down thus low…

For a race deep lost in sin

came I in­to woe…

By this low­ly birth of Mine

sin­ner rich­es shall be thine

Matchless gifts and free; will­ing­ly this yoke I take

And this sac­ri­fice I make

heap­ing joys for thee.

Fervent praise would I to Thee ev­er­more be rais­ing;

For Thy won­drous love to me Thee be ev­er prais­ing.

Glory

glo­ry be for­ev­er un­to that most boun­te­ous Giv­er

And that lov­ing Lord! Bet­ter wit­ness to Thy worth

Purer praise than ours on earth

an­gels’ songs af­ford.