Hail to the Morn That Dawns on Eastern Hills

Hail to the morn that dawns on east­ern hills

More ra­di­ant far than any earth­ly morn;

’Tis heav­en­ly light that all crea­tion fills—

The Christ is born.

Mystery pro­found

through all the ag­es sealed

Now

to a world all hope­less

and for­lorn

In Beth­le­hem’s man­ger is at length re­vealed—

The Christ is born.

Lo

from their watch the herds­men raise their eyes

For dazz­ling light the robe of night had torn

And angels poured their rap­tures from the skies—

The Christ is born.

Bring ye your gifts of gold and in­cense rare

Wise men who come

all tra­vel-stained and worn;

Find ye the Child

and pay your hom­age there—

The Christ is born.

Hail to the morn

the world ex­ult­ing sings;

Only to Him

in feal­ty we are sworn

Lord of our lives

im­mor­tal King of kings!—

The Christ is born.