How beau­ti­ful the mys­te­ry:
Th’eter­nal Word comes down
To live and love and die and rise,
To claim His vic­tor’s crown.

Content we find Him cra­dled there
Amongst the filth and beasts.
Who would be­lieve that He will be
Our guide from death to peace!

By ang­ry swords and dark de­cree
He’s driv­en from His land.
But still He hum­bly bows His head
To trust His Fa­ther’s hand.

The spot­less Lamb lays down His life,
A cur­se up­on a cross.
Then lives that He might guar­an­tee
That no sheep will be lost.

O! May our hearts grow ev­er fond
Of Mary’s pre­cious boy:
Our Christ, our hope, our heart’s de­sire,
Our king and so­ve­reign joy!