Scripture Verse

Today in the city of David a Savior has been born to you; He is Christ the Lord. Luke 2:11


Benjamin H. Kennedy (1804–1889)

Words: Paul Ger­hardt, Prax­is Pi­eta­tis Me­li­ca, 1656 (Fröh­lich soll mein Herze spring­en). Trans­lat­ed from Ger­man to Eng­lish by Ben­ja­min H. Ken­ne­dy, Hym­no­lo­gia Chris­ti­ana, 1863, alt.

Music: Eb­el­ing Jo­hann G. Eb­el­ing, 1666 (🔊 pdf nwc).

If you know where to get a good pic­ture of Eb­el­ing (head & shoul­ders, at least 200×300 pix­els),

Paul Gerhardt (1607–1676)


All my heart with joy is spring­ing,
While in air ev­ery­where
Angel choirs are sing­ing.
Hear them to the shep­herds tell­ing:
Christ is born! On this morn
God with man is dwell­ing.

To this low­er world des­cend­eth,
From above, He whose love
All our sor­rows end­eth.
He who breath and be­ing gave us,
Quits the skies, lives and dies
In our flesh to save us.

Christ our Lamb so meek and lov­ing
Dries our tears, calms our fears,
All our sins re­mov­ing;
Christ our Lamb, who suf­fers with us;
He can quell death and hell,
And to peace re­store us.

Hark, from yon dark man­ger low­ly,
Breezes soft seem to waft
Gentle words and ho­ly:
Sigh no more, away with sad­ness
Brethren dear; I am here,
Bringing hope and glad­ness.

Come ye now, and kneel before Him;
Mortals all, great and small,
Worship and adore Him:
Love your king, whose love in­vites you:
Lo, His star from afar
To His dwell­ing lights you.

Ye, whom gall­ing want op­press­es
Here ye find com­fort kind,
Balm for your dis­tress­es:
Noblest trea­sures here are giv­en;
Riches true wait for you
Poor of Christ, in Hea­ven.

Ye who strive with fierce temp­ta­tion,
Sorrow-stung, con­science-wrung,
Here is con­so­la­tion:
For the woes which men in­her­it
Christ can feel, Christ will heal
Every wound­ed spir­it.

Kind Re­deem­er, knit Thee to us;
Quelling sin, reign with­in,
With Thy grace re­new us:
Make us Thine by true re­pent­ance;
Let us hear, free from fear,
Lord, Thy fi­nal sen­tence.

Ours be Thy pure love, O Sav­ior,
Ours Thy faith, strong in death,
Ours Thy meek be­hav­ior;
Here let us, on Thee de­pend­ing,
In Thee die, with Thee fly
To the bliss un­end­ing.