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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