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| FROM heaven high I come to you, | |
| And bring you tidings good and new. | |
| So many tidings good I bring, | |
| Thereof I want to say and sing: | |
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| For you to-day is born a child, | 5 |
| E’en from a chosen virgin mild, | |
| A child so fair and fine a sight, | |
| To be your joy and your delight. | |
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| ’Tis our Lord Christ and He will lead | |
| You out of danger, out of need; | 10 |
| Your Saviour He Himself will be, | |
| From all your sins to make you free. | |
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| He comes with all the blessings fraught | |
| That He from God on high has brought; | |
| With us in heaven you shall stay, | 15 |
| Now and forever and a day. | |
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| Now mark the signs: the manger old, | |
| The swaddling-clothes so plain! Behold: | |
| There lies the child in lowly state, | |
| Who lights the world and bears its weight. | 20 |
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| Mark well, my heart, and open, eyes: | |
| See what in yonder manger lies! | |
| Whose is this lovely infant here? | |
| It is the little Jesus dear. | |
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| I welcome Thee, my noble guest, | 25 |
| Who to the sinner givest rest. | |
| Thou camest here in misery. | |
| Oh, let me thank Thee ardently! | |
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| Creator, Lord, of all things known, | |
| How poor and lowly art thou grown, | 30 |
| That Thou on hay and straw must lie, | |
| With mules and cattle feeding by! | |
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| And should the world still greater be, | |
| And gleam with jewels gorgeously, | |
| Yet it would be far, far too small | 35 |
| To be Thy cradle, Lord, at all. | |
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| Thy velvet and Thy silk display | |
| Is swaddling-clothes and coarsest hay; | |
| And there, O King so rich and great, | |
| As if in Heaven, Thou dwellst in state. | 40 |
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| I know right well it pleases Thee | |
| To show Thy saving truth to me, | |
| How worldly honour, goods and might | |
| Are all as nothing in Thy sight. | |
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| Heart’s dearest Jesus, with Thy grace, | 45 |
| Make Thee a smooth, white resting-place | |
| Which deep within my heart shall be, | |
| That I may e’er remember Thee, | |
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| That I a merry heart may keep, | |
| And ever freely sing and leap, | 50 |
| Aye, sing a lovely lullaby, | |
| With dulcet voice and spirits high. | |
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| Praise be to God upon His throne, | |
| Who gave to us His son, His own. | |
| Rejoicing soars the angel throng, | 55 |
| And greets the New Year with its song. | |
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