1 Hark! eastward and westward the message is winging;
The Promised of ages, Messiah, is born!
Oh, haste, let us find Him! all Heaven is singing;
The choirs angelic proclaiming the morn!
Where sleeps He in purple, surrounded with splendor,
This King out of Heaven forsaking His throne?
The virgin, His mother, what monarchs attend her,
To whom the Almighty such favor hath shown?
2 Can this be His dwelling, His cradle, this manger?
Can this be His mother, this maiden so meek?
Comes He to His own in this guise of a stranger
Unsheltered and friendless— the Prince whom we seek?
Behold where He lieth, in Bethlehem hidden!
The Son of the Highest, most lowly His birth!
And no one to welcome or serve Him is bidden
Who counteth as dust all the pomp of the earth.
3 Oh! vast condescension! Almighty, eternal,
He stoops to the lowest, by seraphs adored;
And, One with His Father in glory supernal,
Our flesh He hath taken and hath not abhorred!
His name is called Jesus. Yes, Thou art our Jesus,
Sweet Babe whose appearing the angels proclaim!
From sin and from death thou art come to release us;
Thou bearest for us that adorable name!
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