Rejoice to­day with glad ac­cord,
For Christ, the Lord, is come:
Fulfillèd the pro­phet­ic word,
In David’s Beth­le­hem.
For un­to us a child is born;
To us a son is giv­en;
To raise our fall­en na­ture up,
And make us heirs of Heav’n.

Behold Him in a man­ger laid:
A help­less lit­tle one;
For whom Ju­dea’s mo­thers prayed;
The long ex­pect­ed Son.
No earth­ly pomp sur­rounds His bed,
His home no pill­ared hall:
They had not where to lay His head,
Save in the catt­le stall.

The King of Heav’n—the Prince of Life,
Assumes a mor­tal frame;
He comes to en­ter into strife,
To weave im­mor­tal fame.
His wea­pons truth and right­eous­ness;
The cause the good of all,
The help­less sons of Ad­am’s race,
The rui­ned by the fall.

Hail, glo­ri­ous Prince! Hail, bless­èd Son!
On this Thy na­tal day
Let love and peace un­tram­meled run,
O’er all the earth hold sway,
Till hu­man pass­ion, sin, and wrongs,
Are num­bered with the past,
And earth with her ten thou­sand tongues,
Shall praise Thee First and Last.