Abashed be all the boast of age!
Be hoa­ry learn­ing dumb!
Expounder of the mys­tic page,
Behold an in­fant come!

Oh, Wis­dom, whose un­fad­ing pow­er
Beside th’Eter­nal stood,
To frame, in na­ture’s ear­li­est hour,
The land, the sky the flood;

Yet didst not Thou dis­dain awhile
An in­fant form to wear;
To bless Thy mo­ther with a smile,
And lisp Thy fal­tered pray­er.

But, in Thy Fa­ther’s own abode,
With Is­ra­el’s el­ders round,
Conversing high with Is­ra­el’s God,
Thy chief­est joy was found.

So may our youth ad­ore Thy name!
And Sav­ior, deign to bless
With fos­ter­ing grace the ti­mid flame
Of ear­ly ho­li­ness.