Hark! east­ward and west­ward
The mes­sage is wing­ing;
The Pro­mised of ag­es,
Messiah, is born!
Oh, haste, let us find Him!
All Hea­ven is sing­ing;
The choirs an­gel­ic
Proclaiming the morn!
Where sleeps He in pur­ple,
Surrounded with splen­dor,
This King out of Hea­ven
Forsaking His throne?
The vir­gin, His mo­ther,
What mon­archs at­tend her,
To whom the Al­migh­ty
Such fa­vor hath shown?

Can this be His dwell­ing,
His cra­dle, this man­ger?
Can this be His mo­ther,
This maid­en so meek?
Comes He to His own in
This guise of a stran­ger
Unsheltered and friend­less—
The Prince whom we seek?
Behold where He li­eth,
In Beth­le­hem hid­den!
The Son of the High­est,
Most low­ly His birth!
And no one to wel­come
Or serve Him is bid­den
Who count­eth as dust
All the pomp of the earth.

Oh! vast con­des­cen­sion!
Almighty, eter­nal,
He stoops to the low­est,
By se­raphs adored;
And, One with His Fa­ther
In glo­ry su­per­nal,
Our flesh He hath tak­en
And hath not ab­horred!
His name is called Je­sus.
Yes, Thou art our Je­sus,
Sweet Babe whose ap­pear­ing
The an­gels pro­claim!
From sin and from death
Thou art come to re­lease us;
Thou bear­est for us
That ad­or­able name!