The Nativity of Christ. Luke ii. 10-12

Hall Progeny divine! Hail Virgin's wondrous Son! Who, for that humble Shrine, Didst quit th' Almighty's Throne: The Infant Lord Our Voices sing, And be the King Of Grace ador'd.

Ye Princes, disappear, And boast your Crowns no more; Lay down your Sceptres here, And in the Dust adore: Where Jesus dwells, The Manger bare In Lustre far Your Pomp excells.

With Bethlem's Shepherds mild The Angels bow their Head; And round the sacred Child Their guardian Wings they spread; They knew, that where Their Sov'reign lies In low Disguise Heav'n's Court is there.

Thither, my Soul, repair, And early Homage pay To thy Redeemer fair, As on his natal Day. I kiss thy Feet; And, Lord, would be A Child like Thee, Whom thus I greet.