Scripture Verse

The Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us. John 1:14


Words: George H. Smyt­tan, in Ly­ra Mes­si­an­i­ca, ed­it­ed by Or­by Ship­ley (Lon­don: Long­man, Green, Long­man, Ro­berts & Green, 1864), pag­es 20–21.

Music: Rol­land Will­iam B. Brad­bu­ry, 1844 (🔊 pdf nwc).

If you know where to get a good pic­ture of Smyt­tan (head-and-shoul­ders, at least 200×300 pix­els), would you ?

William B. Bradbury


Incarnate God! what tongue can tell
The mystery of Emmanuel?
What human lyre, what angel choir,
Can sing that marvel passing ken,
The Word made flesh for sinful men?

Thine advent, Lord, was pain and shame,
Our world from Satan to reclaim;
Oh, grace unknown, that from Thy throne
Thou cam’st to be despised of those
Thy love would rescue from their woes.

A man of sorrows, man of grief—
As if Thou wert the very chief
Of sinners lost, Thou cam’st the Host
O spotless Lamb of God, to be
For man, his soul from death to free.

Yes, Thou was wounded, bruised, and torn,
That we might healèd be, and born
To life again, and saved from pain;
And yet from Thee we hid our face,
Who came from guilt to cleanse our race.

When, Jesu, Thou shalt come once more,
Not poor and lowly as of yore,
But clothed in light, and full of might,
More glorious than ten thousand days,
With angels pealing forth Thy praise.

The clouds of Heaven Thy chariot-throne,
And crowned with majesty Thine own,
Grant I may stand on Thy right hand,
A sinner, yet absolved by Thee,
And worthy made Thy face to see.

With eager eyes and longing heart
Thy Church would see Thee as Thou art;
Oh, hear her cry, her lone-lorn sigh,
And hasten, Lord, the promised hour,
When she will reach her bridal bower.