Behold that splen­dor! Hear the shout;
Heav’n op­ens, an­gels is­sue out
And throng the ne­ther sky.
What sol­emn tid­ings do they bring?
Rapt at th’ap­proach of Is­ra­el’s king,
They speak their mon­arch nigh.

Why does the King ap­proach our land?
Comes He with ter­ror in His hand,
The mer­is of our crimes?
Shepherds be glad! He comes with peace,
Not wrath, but uni­vers­al grace,
To bless e’en dist­ant climes.

See Heav’n’s great heir, a wo­man’s son!
Behold, a man­ger is His throne!
Nay, see Him born to die:
Yours is the guilt, but His the pain:
His is the sor­row, yours the gain:
Then let His praise be high.

Come, migh­ty King! the grace en­hance,
(A sta­ble was Thy pal­ace once,)
Dwell in these hearts of ours:
Teach us to praise the Fa­ther’s love,
’Till bless­ed, trans­port­ed, fired, ab­ove,
We sing with nob­ler pow­ers.