Born in Bethlehem

Fair, fair maiden sleepless lay,

Labouring on the frosted hay,

Breathless cries resound the airs,

In pain of all a mothers cares,

Thus with naught of pomp or hymn,

Comes the Christ to conquer sin,

And made as man our maker lies,

Beneath his own well-fashioned skies.

 

Silent, silent is the Babe,

For whom all his mother gave,

She the dwelling of eternity,

Holy Virgin, thus makes us free,

So we pray on Christmas night,

As winter darkness fills with light,

For by the Virgin comes our God,

Who made the very ground He trod.

 

Wonder, wonder at the Son,

Saint Joseph in amaze looks on,

At Israel’s God in cloths arrayed,

Sleeping in a manger deeply laid,

For scarcely could his heart contain,

His God had taken mortal frame,

That Key of David descending low,

Slept softly mid the falling snow.

 

Loudly, loudly sing the choirs,

Bright angels armed with burnished lyres,

Of joy and peace from heaven sent,

So sings the host which o’er earth is bent,

And even so all Christians sing,

Their hearts long-expectant ring,

As Advent fast flees far away,

In endless joy on Christmas day.

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