In His Rude Manger-Bed Sleeping

In His rude man­ger-bed sleep­ing

See Him

the heav­en­ly Child

O’er Him her si­lent watch keep­ing

Mary the mo­ther

so mild;

Round Him the ze­phyrs are sigh­ing

O’er Him the bright ha­los shine;

Mother in won­der re­ply­ing

Baby

O Ba­by di­vine.

Mother

the Babe that thou hold­est

Shall for a lost world atone;

Mother

the Son thou en­fold­est

Scepters and king­doms shall own.

Mother

a star now is ris­ing

Clear on the list­en­ing night;

See how its beau­ty sur­pris­ing

Makes all the heav­ens so bright;

Mother

it comes and is stand­ing

Over thy poor man­ger-bed;

Wise men the way now are find­ing

By it they hi­ther are led.

See them

their trea­sures out­pour­ing

Gold

with their in­cense so sweet;

See them

in wor­ship ador­ing

Low at the lit­tle One’s feet;

Mother

so poor and so low­ly

Take the glad gifts that we bring;

He is the bless­èd and ho­ly

He is the Sav­ior and King.