Virgin mother, oh, rejoice!
Glad and honored is thy womb,
Where the Son of God Himself
Deigns our nature to assume:
Joy be to thy fruitful breast,
For the Son of God lies there;
Very God, a human child,
Is thy high and holy care.
He, the Father’s only Son,
And by whom all things were made,
Helpless, clothed in mortal flesh,
In thy tender arms is laid:
He in Heaven is the source
Whence the joy of angels flows,
Here on earth, an infant weak,
Thirst and hunger both He knows.
There He rules o’er all that are,
Here He doth His mother’s will;
There He gives His high commands,
Here commands He doth fulfill;
There on highest throne He sits
Far above the vaulted skies,
Here enwrapped in swaddling clothes
In a manger low He lies.
Mortal, think upon these things,
Study well the depth to know
Of the all embracing love
Which these wondrous lessons show:
Of forgiveness lose not hope,
Though thou mayst have sinnèd much,
When the proofs of love abound,
When the proofs of love are such.
Seek the blessèd fount and source
Whence indulgence flows to all,
And before the Savior’s feet
In confiding meekness fall—
Jesu, on the erring look,
All the wanderers restore,
And amid Thy hosts redeemed
Set them safe forevermore.