Hail, Blessèd Babe!

Lo

here an­oth­er Christ­mas dawns

A glad­some

mer­ry day;

When ev­ery sort of earth­ly care

May well be put away;

And thoughts of men be back­ward turned

Unto that bless­èd morn

On which

in low­ly Beth­le­hem

The Sav­ior

Christ

was born.

Hail

bless­èd Babe of Beth­le­hem!

Our gifts of praise we bring;

We hail Thee as the Christ of God

Our pro­phet

priest

and king!

The pow­er re­ceived we own

For fu­ture grace we pray;

And sing of Thee with joy­ful hearts

This glad­some Christ­mas day.

What won­der if the an­gels’ songs

Shook those Ju­de­an hills

Or if the ve­ry trees cried out

And laughed the gurg­ling rills?

For hope had kissed the fall­en world

Of life and glo­ry shorn;

And He

Mes­si­ah

pro­mised long

Had come

for Christ was born.

The beau­ty of the east­ern morn

That ush­ered in that day

But ty­pi­fied His glo­ry

who

Within that man­ger lay;

Well might the wise men

wor­ship­ing

With gifts their faith aver

They of­fered to a God their gold

Their frank­in­cense and myrrh.

What man so blind as not to see

The gifts which in Him shine?

What man so sac­ri­le­gious as

To call Him not di­vine?

What man so fear­less of his fate

As not to trust His grace

Who deigned

a right­eous God

to come

And take the sin­ner’s place?