Come, children; raise your voic­es!
The King of Love comes from ab­ove,
The hea­ven­ly host re­joic­es.

The Babe lies in the man­ger;
God seeks His own, by an­gels known,
But un­to men a stran­ger.

Though weak and help­less ly­ing,
From Him is giv’n through earth and Heav’n
New life, and peace un­dy­ing.

But who on earth do greet Him?
A shep­herd band with staff in hand
Sets forth by night to meet Him.

And lo! from east­ward rid­ing
The wise men three; the star they see,
And follow it con­fid­ing.

Oh, hope of all the ag­es!
May we find grace to claim our place
Where shep­herds kneel and sag­es.