From Dayspring’s Faintest Eastern Goal

From day­spring’s faint­est east­ern goal

Far as the ut­most west

Come

sing we Christ

the Sav­ior born

Of vir­gin mo­ther blest:

The Fa­ther of the age to come

In serv­ant’s form ar­rayed

That Man He might for man atone

And ran­som whom He made.

Within that mo­ther’s spot­less frame

Celestial fa­vor reigns

A sec­ret load

she weened not of

The maid­en pure sus­tains:

Her bo­som chaste at once be­comes

The tem­ple for her God;

And she

who knew not man

is made

A heav­en­ly Babe’s ab­ode.

He comes

He comes

the vir­gin-born

To Ga­bri­el’s pro­mise true;

He

whom

as yet un­born

o’er­joyed

The un­born Bap­tist knew:

Nor reeks He of His bed of hay

Nor He the man­ger heeds;

Enough the mil­ky breast for Him

Who all the ra­vens feeds.

A shep­herd to the shep­herds’ fold

The Lord of all is showed

Celestial chor­ist­ers re­joice

And an­gels sing to God.

Now glo­ry

Je­sus

be to Thee

Whom a pure vir­gin bore

With Fa­ther

and with Ho­ly Ghost

Henceforth for ev­er­more.