To Him, with God the Father

In substance truly one,

One with mankind, from all men
Be laud forever done :

God to our human nature,
To our mortality

In form conjoined, we worship,
And Him we glorify.

Thee, Word of God eternal,
Who wert before the sun,
The star showed to the Magi,
A poor and suffering One:
Thee, swaddled in a manger,
They saw with glad accord,
And hailed Thee with rejoicing,
True Man, and yet the Lord.

OME! ye lofty, come! ye lowly,..

Let your songs of gladness ring,
In a stable lies the Holy,

In a manger rests the King:
See, in Mary's arms reposing,
Christ by highest heaven adored :
Come! your circle round him closing,
Pious hearts that love the Lord.

Come! ye poor, no pomp of station
Robes the Child your hearts adore:
He, the Lord of all salvation,

Shares your want, is weak and poor :
Oxen, round about behold them,

Rafters naked, cold, and bare,

See! the shepherds, God has told them
That the Prince of Life lies there.

Come! ye children, blithe and merry,
This one Child your model make;
Christmas holly, leaf, and berry,

All be prized for His dear sake;
Come! ye gentle hearts and tender;
Come! ye spirits keen and bold;
All in all your homage render,
Weak and mighty, young and old.

High above a star is shining,

And the Wise, Men haste from far: Come! glad hearts, and spirits pining: you all has risen the Star.

For

Let us bring our poor oblations,

Thanks, and love, and faith, and praise : Come! ye people, come! ye nations, All in all draw nigh to gaze.

Hark! the heaven of heavens is ringing-
Christ the Lord to man is born:
Are not all our hearts, too, singing—
Welcome, welcome, Christmas morn ?
Still the Child, all power possessing,
Smiles as through the ages past;
And the song of Christmas-blessing
Sweetly sinks to rest at last.

THE INFANT JESUS.

EAR little One! how sweet Thou art, Thine eyes how bright they shine, So bright, they almost seem to speak When Mary's look meets Thine!

When Mary bids Thee sleep, Thou sleep'st,

Thou wakest when she calls;

Thou art content upon her lap,

Or in the rugged stalls.

Simplest of Babes! with what a grace

Thou dost Thy mother's will! Thine infant fashions well betray The Godhead's hidden skill.

When Joseph takes Thee in his arms,
And smooths Thy little cheek,

Thou lookest up into his face

So helpless and so meek.

Yes! Thou art what Thou seem'st to be, A thing of smiles and tears;

Yet Thou art God, and heaven and earth Adore Thee with their fears.

Yes! dearest Babe! those tiny hands,
That play with Mary's hair,
The weight of all the mighty world
This very moment bear.

Art Thou, weak Babe, my very God?

OI must love Thee then,

Love Thee, and yearn to spread Thy love Among forgetful men.