CC. The Nativity of Christ.

HALL Progeny divine!
Hail Virgin's wondrous Son!
Who, for that humble Shrine,
Didst quit th' Almighty's Throne:
The Infant Lord
Our Voices sing,
And be the King
Of Grace ador'd.

Ye Princes, disappear,
And boast your Crowns no more;
Lay down your Sceptres here,
And in the Dust adore:
Where Jesus dwells,
The Manger bare
In Lustre far
Your Pomp excells.

With Bethlem's Shepherds mild
The Angels bow their Head;
And round the sacred Child
Their guardian Wings they spread;
They knew, that where
Their Sov'reign lies
In low Disguise
Heav'n's Court is there.

Thither, my Soul, repair,
And early Homage pay
To thy Redeemer fair,
As on his natal Day.
I kiss thy Feet;
And, Lord, would be
A Child like Thee,
Whom thus I greet.