Fly abroad, and tell the story,
Of the mighty Savior’s birth;
Say ye, that the Lord of glory
Leaves His throne and comes to earth.
He, before whom angels bow,
Takes the form of man below.
Hither come, and view the Stranger,
View the Infant lately born;
See, He lives in yonder manger,
By the world cast out in scorn.
Mark Him well, for this is He,
Born to set His people free.
Wonder not that thus ye see Him,
Lying in this humble place:
Nor indulge a wish to free Him,
From a state so low and base.
Worldly pomp the Savior scorns:
Him no outward state adorns.
Sing, ye saints, the Savior’s praises:
’Twas for you He suffered shame;
Yes, He stooped that He might raise us
To the place from whence He came.
Though He now appears so low,
Crowns shall soon adorn His brow.
Learn from His obscure condition
How to think of all below;
Scorn He meets, and opposition:
Jesus finds in man His foe.
Such our Master was, and we
Must expect like Him to be.