Away! with loyal hearts and true,
O’er hill and dale they pressed
Full four score weary miles, to do
The Cæsar’s high behest;
And Mary sang
Her own, her ancient song;
For well wist she that God’s decree
Was bearing her along,
Was bearing her along.
Away! through fields and meadows green,
O’er purple heather-bed,
By mountain pass, or dark ravine,
The faithful couple sped.
And soft and sweet, where’er they went,
To glad the weary way,
Sang Mary that
Her own, her ancient lay,
Her own, her ancient lay.
O’erhead the storm clouds often wept,
And tempests o’er them passed,
And cold around them often swept
The bleak December blast.
But still she sang
Through weather foul or fair;
For all was rest within her breast,
’Twas always sunshine there,
’Twas always sunshine there.
And when the pilgrimage was o’er,
And of their royal king
Not one would open wide his door,
And bid them enter in;
Still Mary sang
With ever joyful tone;
Whate’er betide, the Lord, she cried,
Is mindful of His own.
Worn out at last, and ill-bestead,
Right glad were they to find
Within a sorry cattle shed
A shelter from the wind.
And Mary sang
Right through that wondrous night;
And, e’er the birth of morn on earth,
Was born the Light of Light.
Then let us all with one accord
Join Mary’s song and say,
My soul doth magnify the Lord,
For ever and for aye.
Let us sing
That dear and ancient lay,
For God’s own Son with us is one,
And He is born today.