They Seek the Babe

They seek the Babe—no re­gal state—

No prince­ly pomp are His the while;

On Him no bright-robed cour­ti­ers wait

But hum­ble pea­sants watch His smile:

The ma­gi kneel

and shep­herds bend

To Him who an­gels did at­tend.

He has re­signed a crown of light—

Laid all His glo­ri­ous vest­ments by—

And shroud­ing in this world of night

The splen­dors of the De­ity

Hath come to suc­cor

save

and bless

His crea­tures in their wretch­ed­ness.

Savior

again we hail the day

When bright­ly rose Thy na­tal star;

And join the an­gels’ Heav­en-taught lay

Which in the az­ure fields afar—

The mu­sic of ce­les­ti­al spheres

Rang on the shep­herds’ list­en­ing ears.

And lo

from na­ture’s hand we bear

An of­fer­ing for Thy ho­ly shrine;

With ev­er­green

and gar­lands fair

High arch and lof­ty pil­lar twine:

And joy­ful­ly our pæ­ans raise

Redeemer

Sav­ior

in Thy praise.

And though no bright

pe­cul­iar gem

Is hung up­on our midn­ight sky—

Like that which shone o’er Beth­le­hem

What time the heav­en­ly hosts were nigh—

Thy Word our po­lar star shall be

Guiding us on

to Heav­en and Thee.