Come, ye redeemèd of the Lord,
Your grateful tribute bring;
And celebrate with one accord,
The birthday of our king.
Let us with humble hearts repair—
Faith will point out the road—
To little Bethlehem; and there
Adore our infant God.
In swaddling bands the Savior view!
Let none this weakness scorn;
The feeblest heart shall hell subdue,
Where Jesus Christ is born.
No pomp adorns, no sweets perfume,
The place where Christ is laid;
The stable serves Him for His room;
A manger is His bed.
The crowded inn, like sinners’ hearts—
O ignorance extreme!
For other guests of various sorts
Had room; but none for Him.
But see what different thoughts arise
In ours and angels’ breasts:
To hail His birth they left the skies;
We lodged Him with the beasts.
Yet let believers cease their fears,
Nor envy heav’nly powers;
If sinless innocence be theirs,
Redemption all is ours.