Mourner, Christmas comes for thee;
Hear, with low and gentle tone,
One who whispers,
Look to Me!
Hope, for thou art not alone!
Not for thee the merry throng,
Gladness making lonelier still;
Yet is thine the angels’ song,
Echoed clear from Bethlehem’s hill.
Fear ye not! from Heav’n was spoken
Long ago, on Christmas Eve;
Fear thou not! is still the token
Which our waiting hearts receive.
Unto you the Christ is given!
Thus sang choirs full and clear;
Now a voice on Christmas Even
He is here!
He knows all, thy Lord divine;
Mourner, though thine eye be dim,
Look to Christ—His love is thine;
Take thy Christmas joy from Him.