The Manger-Babe

There’s a man­ger-babe in a far off land

But it holds the world in its in­fant hand;

Just a man­ger-babe in its hum­ble bed

But a match­less crown is up­on its head.

O Manger-Babe

Thy low­ly rest

More roy­al is than prince­ly bed;

Best of earth’s dia­dems would be

Only as dross on Thy king­ly head.

Just a manger-babe

but it is the worth

Of the Fa­ther’s love to the sons of earth;

’Tis a king that sleeps in the low­ly stall

’Tis the King of kings! ’tis the Lord of all.

’Tis the Man­ger-Babe

’tis the Man­ger-King

Unto Him all hail! un­to Him we sing;

O the glad and joy­ful ho­san­nas swell

For the Man­ger-King is Im­ma­nu­el!