Oh, How Wondrous Is the Story

Oh

how won­drous is the sto­ry

Of our blest Re­deem­er’s birth!

See

the migh­ty Lord of glo­ry

Leaves His Heav­en to vis­it earth.

Hear with trans­port

ev­ery crea­ture

Hear the Gos­pel’s joy­ful sound:

Christ ap­pears in hu­man na­ture

In our sin­ful world is found.

Comes to par­don our trans­gress­ion;

Like a cloud our sins to blot;

Comes to His own fa­vored na­tion

But His own re­ceive Him not.

If the an­gels who at­tend­ed

To de­clare the Sav­ior’s birth

Who from Heav’n with song des­cend­ed

To pro­claim good-will on earth:

If

in pi­ty to our blind­ness

They had brought the par­don need­ed

Still Je­ho­vah’s won­drous kind­ness

Had our warm­est hopes ex­ceed­ed.

If some pro­phet had been sent

With sal­va­tion’s joy­ful news

Who that heard the blest ev­ent

Could their warm­est love re­fuse?

But ’twas He to whom in Heav­en

Hallelujahs nev­er cease;

He

the migh­ty God

was giv­en—

Giv’n to us—a Prince of Peace.

None but He who did cre­ate us

Could re­deem from sin and hell;

None but He could re­in­state us

In the rank from which we fell.

Had he come

the glo­ri­ous Strang­er

Decked with all the world calls great;

Had He lived in pomp and gran­deur

Crowned with more than roy­al state

Still our tongues

with praise o’er­flow­ing

On such bound­less love would dwell;

Still our hearts

with rap­ture glow­ing

Feel what words could nev­er tell.

But what won­der should it raise

Thus our low­est state to bor­row!

O the high mys­te­ri­ous ways

God’s own Son a child of sor­row!

’Twas to bring us end­less plea­sure

He our suf­fer­ing na­ture bore;

’Twas to give us heav’n­ly trea­sure

He was will­ing to be poor.

Come

ye rich

sur­vey the sta­ble

Where your in­fant Sav­ior lies;

From your full

o’er­flow­ing ta­ble

Send the hun­gry good sup­plies.

Boast not your en­no­bled sta­tions;

Boast not that you’re high­ly fed;

Jesus—hear it

all ye na­tions—

Had not where to lay His head.

Learn of Me

thus cries the Sav­ior

If My king­dom you’d in­her­it;

Sinner

quit your proud be­hav­ior

Learn My meek and low­ly spir­it.

Come

ye serv­ants

see your sta­tion

Freed from all re­proach and shame:

He who pur­chased your sal­va­tion

Bore a serv­ant’s hum­ble name.

Come

ye poor

some com­fort ga­ther;

Faint not in the race you run;

Hard the lot your gra­cious Fa­ther

Gave His dear

His on­ly Son.

Think that if your hum­bler sta­tions

Less of world­ly good be­stow

You es­cape those strong temp­ta­tions

Which from wealth and gran­deur flow.

See

your Sav­ior is as­cend­ed:

See

He looks with pi­ty down!

Trust Him

all will soon be mend­ed;

Bear His cross

you’ll share His crown.