Come, 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 heav'n adored;
Come, your circle round him closing,
Pious hearts that love the Lord.
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 spirit, keen and bold;
All in all your homage render,
Weak and mighty, young and old.
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 him;
Rafters naked, cold and bare,
See the shepherds, God has told them
That the Prince of Life lies there.
High above a star is shining,
And the Wisemen haste from far;
Come, glad hearts, and sprits pining:
For you all has ris'n the star.
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.
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