Waken! Chris­tian child­ren,
Up and let us sing,
With glad voice the prais­es
Of our new­born king.

Up! ’tis meet to wel­come
With a joy­ous lay
Christ, the King of Glo­ry,
Born for us to­day.

Come, nor fear to seek Him,
Children though we be;
Once He said of child­ren,
Let them come to Me.

In a manger low­ly
Sleeps the heav’n­ly Child;
O’er Him fond­ly bend­eth
Mary, mo­ther mild.

Far above that sta­ble,
Up in Heav’n so high,
One bright star out-shin­eth,
Watching si­lent­ly.

Fear not then to en­ter,
Though we can­not bring
Gold, or myrrh, or in­cense
Fitting for a king.

Gifts He ask­eth rich­er,
Offerings cost­li­er still,
Yet may Chris­tian child­ren
Bring them if they will.

Brighter than all jew­els
Shines the mo­dest eye;
Best of gifts He lov­eth
Infant pu­ri­ty.

Haste we then to wel­come
With a joy­ous lay
Christ, the King of Glo­ry,
Born for us to­day.