His Birth
148th.
1
We’ll sing, in spite of scorn;
Our theme is come from heaven:
To us a Child is born,
To us a Son is given;
The sweetest news that ever came
We’ll sing, though all the world should blame.
2
The long expected morn
Has dawned upon the earth;
The Saviour Christ is born,
And angels sing His birth:
We’ll join the bright seraphic throng,
We’ll share their joys, and swell their song.
3
O! ’tis a lofty theme,
Supplied by angels’ tongues!
All other objects seem
Unworthy of our songs;
This sacred theme has boundless charms,
It fills, it captivates, it warms.
4
Now sing of peace divine,
Of grace to guilty man;
No wisdom, Lord, but Thine
Could form the wondrous plan;
Where peace and righteousness embrace,
And justice goes along with grace.
5
Give praise to God on high,
With angels round His throne;
Give praise to God with joy,
Give praise to God alone!
’Tis meet His saints their songs should raise,
And give the Saviour endless praise.
