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2 To David's city let us fly,

Where angels sing beneath the sky;
Through plain and village pressing near,
And news from God with shepherds hear.

3 0 let us go with quiet mind,

The gentle Babe with shepherds find,
To gaze on Him who gladdens them,
The loveliest flower on Jesse's stem.

4 The lowly Savior meekly lies,

Laid off the splendor of the skies;
No crown bedecks His forehead fair,
No pearl, nor gem, nor silk is there.
5 No human glory, might, and gold,
The lovely Infant's form enfold;
'The manger and the swaddlings poor
Are His, whom angels' songs adore.

6 O wake our hearts, in gladness sing,
And keep our Christmas with our King,
Till living song, from loving souls,
Like sound of mighty water rolls!

7 O holy Child, Thy manger gleams

Till earth and heaven glow with its beams,
Till midnight hath noon's brightness won,
And Jacob's Star outshines the sun.

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8 Thou patriarchs' joy, Thou prophets' song,
Thou heavenly Day-spring looked for long,
Thou Son of Man, incarnate Word,
Great David's Son, great David's Lord!

9 Come, Jesus, glorious heavenly Guest,
Keep Thine own Christmas in our breast;
Then David's harp-string, hushed so long,
Shall swell our jubilee of song.

N. F. S. Grundtvig, 1817

Ludv. M. Lindeman, 1312-87

Babe is born in Bethlehem, In Bethlehem; There

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2 True Son of the Father, He comes from the skies;
To be born of a virgin He does not despise:
To Bethlehem hasten with joyful accord;
O come ye, come hither to worship the Lord!
O come ye, come hither to worship the Lord!

3 Hark! hark to the angels! all singing in heaven,
"To God in the highest all glory be given!"
To Betlehem hasten with joyful accord;
O come ye, come hither to worship the Lord!
O come ye, come hither to worship the Lord!

4 To Thee, then, O Jesus, this day of Thy birth,
Be glory and honor through heaven and earth;
True Godhead incarnate! omnipotent Word!
O come, let us hasten to worship the Lord!
O come, let us hasten to worship the Lord!

Anon., Latin, 17th or 18th Century

196

8, 6, 8, 6, 7, 6, 8, 6.

J. Barnby, 1838-96

O little town of Beth-le-hem, How still we see thee lie!

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep The silent stars go

by;

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