All hail, thou night, than day more bright,
Through whose mys­te­ri­ous shade,
In won­drous birth, arose on earth,
From bo­som of pure maid,
The Sun new-born, a Star of morn,
Filling all the world with light!

He who alone, from Heav­en’s high throne,
Rules all, and doth re­store
To God’s em­brace man’s fall­en race,
Lies on a cot­tage floor,
Like Him that we, save po­ver­ty,
Have naught to call our own.

While o’er their sheep close watch they keep,
Those shep­herds first re­ceive
The heav’n­ly call, that doth to all
Great joy and glad­ness give—
The call from Heav’n to watch­men giv’n
That wake and nev­er sleep.