Barnwell C.M.

When Thou, O Lord, in flesh wert drest

The world Thou mad'st to free,

The Inn, where weary travellers rest,

Had not a room for Thee.

 

The Holy Babe in manger rude

Was all His birth-night laid;

Pondering God's words, in thoughtful mood,

Nigh watched the Mother Maid.

 

Sweet anthem! caught from hosts on high,

Dwell thou our hearts within;

Blest bridal of the earth and sky,

Long separate through sin.

 

Yet sometimes, when our spirit tires,

By toil and darkness worn,

Lord! make us hear seraphic choirs,

And give a glimpse of morn!