They seek the Babe—no regal state—
No princely pomp are His the while;
On Him no bright-robed courtiers wait,
But humble peasants watch His smile:
The magi kneel, and shepherds bend,
To Him who angels did attend.
He has resigned a crown of light—
Laid all His glorious vestments by—
And shrouding in this world of night
The splendors of the Deity,
Hath come to succor, save, and bless,
His creatures in their wretchedness.
Savior, again we hail the day,
When brightly rose Thy natal star;
And join the angels’ Heaven-taught lay,
Which in the azure fields afar—
The music of celestial spheres,
Rang on the shepherds’ listening ears.
And lo, from nature’s hand we bear
An offering for Thy holy shrine;
With evergreen, and garlands fair,
High arch and lofty pillar twine:
And joyfully our pæans raise,
Redeemer, Savior, in Thy praise.
And though no bright, peculiar gem
Is hung upon our midnight sky—
Like that which shone o’er Bethlehem,
What time the heavenly hosts were nigh—
Thy Word our polar star shall be,
Guiding us on, to Heaven and Thee.