From eternal blissful union, where bright beams of glory shone;
From the loud resounding anthem, of the angels sweetest song;
From the throne of God Almighty, from the shining of His face;
From the majesty of heaven, from His ever rightful place.
Answering forth with deep assurance, to the Father's solemn plea,
"Who can go to save the people?" - "Father, here am I, send me".
So the glory of the Saviour, masked within the modest form
Of a humble, helpless baby, to this world of woe was born.
To a palace clothed in splendour, would the Saviour child be found;
With the herald's trump of glory, masses prostrate on the ground;
With the finest maids attending, earthly monarchs bow the knee;
Songs of sweetest jubilation, praise and honour, ever be?
No! The great Creator's entrance to the world of blinded man
Found the darkness of rejection, witnessed as His life began.
Foxes have their holes for shelter, birds the comfort of their nest,
But the blessed, holy baby had no where His head to rest.
Oh, to think a maiden chosen from this sin-bound cursèd race
Beareth forth the great Creator to the pre-appointed place!
Carried by His own creation, trusted to the seed of man -
Earthen vessel blessed to figure in the great eternal plan.
Oh, to think that hands can cradle, oh, to think that man can see,
In the likeness of their fashion, heaven's highest majesty.
And to think of stars of heaven, thrown into an empty sky
By the gentle sleeping babe, who underneath their light does lie.
And to think that cosmic order in the smallest hand is kept;
Never did a single atom wander as the baby slept.
Oh, the great transcending journey, heaven's heights to sinful earth;
Oh, the wonder and the mystery of the precious Saviour's birth.
"Thou shall call the baby, 'Jesus'"; it shall be His holy name,
For to save His helpless people is the cause to which He came.
So the life of perfect order, so the path His feet would tread,
Found its humble poor beginning in a lowly cattle shed.
Yet a life of blest communion with the Father's holy will
Led its final fearful footsteps up the slopes of Calvary's hill.
Taken by His own creation, bound to the accursèd tree,
Lifted in humiliation for a gazing world to see.
Paying there the greatest ransom, laying down His perfect life,
There the debt of man's redemption found a willing sacrifice.
Surely must the wondrous story of God's gift to Bethlehem,
Move our hearts to pray unceasing praise and honour, Lord Amen.
