By Thy birth, O Lord of all,
In a sta­ble’s low­ly stall,
Where Thou didst vouch­safe to rest
On a hu­man mo­ther’s breast;
Guard Thy child­ren, Lord, to Thee
Chanting this our li­ta­ny.

By Thy hum­ble bed of straw,
Thy obe­di­ence to the law;
By Thy for­ty days of woe
Wrestling with the migh­ty foe;
Guard Thy child­ren, Lord, to Thee
Chanting this our li­ta­ny.

By the hal­lowed wa­ter poured
On Thy sac­red head, O Lord,
When Thou Jor­dan’s wave didst bless,
And ful­fill all right­eous­ness;
Guard Thy child­ren, Lord, to Thee
Chanting this our li­ta­ny.

By the ang­uish laid on Thee,
Kneeling in Geth­se­ma­ne,
By Thy cross and pre­cious death,
By Thy last ex­pir­ing breath;
Guard Thy child­ren, Lord, to Thee
Chanting this our li­ta­ny.

By the word of par­don blest
To the dy­ing thief ad­dressed,
By Thy cold and roc­ky bed,
By Thy so­journ ’midst the dead;
Guard Thy child­ren, Lord, to Thee
Chanting this our li­ta­ny.

By Thy re­sur­rect­ion bright
By Thy won­drous hea­ven­ly flight,
By the throne where Thou dost stand
At Thy Fa­ther’s own right hand;
Guard Thy child­ren, Lord, to Thee
Chanting this our li­ta­ny.