FROM heaven above to earth I come
To bear good news to every home;
Glad tidings of great joy I bring,
Whereof I now will say and sing:
To you, this night, is born a child
Of Mary, chosen mother mild;
This little child, of lowly birth,
Shall be the joy of all your earth.
'Tis Christ our God, who far on high
Hath heard your sad and bitter cry ;
Himself will your Salvation be,
Himself from sin will make you free.
He brings those blessings, long ago
Prepared by God for all below ;
Henceforth, His kingdom open stands
To you, as to the angel-bands.
These are the tokens ye shall mark,
The swaddling-clothes and manger dark;
There shall ye find the
By whom the heavens and earth were made.
Now let us all with gladsome cheer
Follow the shepherds, and draw near,
To see this wondrous gift of God,
Who hath His only Son bestowed.
Give heed, my heart, lift up thine eyes!
Who is it in yon manger lies?
Who is this child so young and fair?
The blessed Christ-child lieth there.
Welcome to earth, Thou noble guest,
Through whom e'en wicked men are blest!
Thou comest to share our misery,
What can we render, Lord, to Thee?
Ah, Lord, who hast created all,
How hast Thou made Thee weak and small, That Thou must choose Thy infant bed Where ass and ox but lately fed!
Were earth a thousand times as fair,
Beset with gold and jewels rare,
She yet were far too poor to be
A narrow cradle, Lord, for Thee.
For velvets soft and silken stuff
Thou hast but hay and straw so rough,
Whereon Thou King, so rich and great,
As 't were Thy heaven, art throned in state.
Thus hath it pleased Thee to make plain
The truth to us poor fools and vain,
That this world's honour, wealth, and might,
Are nought and worthless in Thy sight.
Ah! dearest Jesus, Holy Child,
Make Thee a bed, soft, undefiled,
Within my heart, that it may be
A quiet chamber kept for Thee.
My heart for very joy doth leap,
My lips no more can silence keep;
I too must sing with joyful tongue
That sweetest ancient cradle-song:
Glory to God in highest heaven,
Who unto man His Son hath given !
While angels sing with pious mirth
A glad New Year to all the earth.
Luther, translated by C. Winkworth.
THE midnight is as bright as day!
On earth flames wide a stranger ray!
And yet no meteor wanders nigh,
No moon floats through Judea's sky!
But there is on the face of night
A mellow, pure, and holy light;
Each moment holier, purer flowing,
But with a tender radiance glowing;
And on the shepherds' startled view
Are forms of glory breaking through
Those floods of splendour; throng on throng Uplifting a triumphant song!
Ne'er flowed such strains on earthly gale,
O'er breezy hill, or listening vale,
Before; nor shall such sounds again
Break on the raptured ear of man,
Till, rising to his native sky,
He put on immortality.
It came, that glorious embassy, To hail the Incarnate Mystery! For this awoke that glorious hymn From glowing lips of Seraphim! For this-adown the radiant sky, From bowers of bliss-from worlds on high, Appeared, upborne on wings of fire,
That seraph host— that angel-choir.
For this, too, flamed o'er Bethlehem,
The brightest in night's diadem,
That mystic star whose pilot-ray
Illumed the magi's doubtful way;
Bright wanderer through the fields of air,
Which led the inquiring sages where,
Cradled within a worthless manger,
Slept on that morn the immortal Stranger.
He might have come in regal pomp, With pealing of archangel trump,
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