Awake, awake the sacr­ed song,
To our incarnate Lord;
Let ev­ery heart and ev­ery tongue
Adore th’eter­nal Word.

That aw­ful Word, that so­ve­reign pow­er,
By whom the worlds were made;
(O happy morn, illustrious hour!)
Was once in flesh ar­rayed.

Then shone al­migh­ty pow­er and love,
In all their glo­ri­ous forms,
When Je­sus left His throne above,
To dwell with sin­ful worms.

To dwell with mi­se­ry be­low,
The Sav­ior left the skies,
And sunk to wretchedness and woe,
That worthless man might rise.

Adoring angels tuned their songs
To hail the joyful day;
With rapture then let mor­tal tongues
Their grate­ful wor­ship pay.

What glo­ry, Lord, to Thee is due?
With won­der we adore;
But could we sing as an­gels do,
Our high­est praise were poor.