1 |
Behold a simple, tender Babe, In freezing winter night, In homely manger trembling lies: Alas! a piteous sight. |
2 |
The inns are full; no man will yield This little Pilgrim bed; But forced He is with simple beasts In crib to shroud His head. |
3 |
Despise Him not for lying there; First what He is inquire: An orient pearl is often found In depth of dirty mire. |
4 |
Weigh not His crib, His wooden dish, Nor beasts that by Him feed; Weigh not His mother's poor attire, Nor Joseph's simple weed. |
5 |
This stable is a Prince's court, This crib His chair of state, The beasts are parcel of His pomp, The wooden dish His plate. |
6 |
The persons in that poor attire His royal liv'ries wear; The Prince Himself is come from heav'n. This pomp is prized there. |
7 |
With joy approach, O Christian soul, Do homage to thy King; And highly praise this humble pomp, Which He from heav'n doth bring. |
First upload: November 2, 2003 / Update: Nov 30, 2009 with F200