He assumed this mortal body, frail and feeble, doomed to die,
    That the race from dust created might not perish utterly,
  Which the dreadful Law had sentenced in the depths of Hell to lie.

  O how blest that wondrous birthday, when the Maid the curse retrieved,
    Brought to birth mankind’s salvation, by the Holy Ghost conceived;
  And the sacred Babe, Redeemer of the world, her arms received.

  Sing, ye heights of heaven, His praises; angels and archangels, sing! 
    Wheresoe’er ye be, ye faithful, let your joyous anthems ring,
  Every tongue His name confessing, countless voices answering.

  This is He whom seer and sibyl sang in ages long gone by;
    This is He of old revealed in the page of prophecy;
  Lo!  He comes, the promised Saviour; let the world His praises cry!

  In the urns the clear, cold water turns to juice of noblest vine,
    And the servant, drawing from them, starts to see the generous wine,
  While the host, its savour tasting, wonders at the draught divine.

  To the leper worn and wasted, white with many a loathsome sore,
    “Be thou cleansed,” He said; “I bid it!” swift ’tis done, His words restore;
  To the priest the gift he offers, clean and healthful as of yore.

  On the eyes long sealed in darkness, buried in unbroken night,
    Thou didst spread Thy lips’ sweet nectar, mixed with clay:  then came the sight,
  As Thy gracious touch all-healing brought to those dark orbs the light.

  Thou didst chide the raging tempest, when the waves with foaming crest
    Leaped about the fragile vessel, buffeted and sore distressed;
  Wind and wave, their fury stilling, sank to calm at Thy behest.

  Once a woman’s timid fingers touched Thy garment’s lowest braid,
    And the pallor left her visage, healing power the touch conveyed,
  For the years of pain were ended and the flow of blood was stayed.

  Thou didst see men bear to burial one struck down in youth’s glad tide,
    While a widowed mother followed, wailing for her boy that died;
  “Rise!” Thou saidst, and led him gently to his weeping mother’s side.

  Lazarus, who lay in darkness till three nights had passed away,
    At Thy voice awoke to soundness, rising to the light of day,
  As the breath his frame re-entered touched already with decay.

  See, He walks upon the waters, treads the billow’s rolling crest;
    O’er the shifting depths of ocean firm and sure His footsteps rest,
  And the wave parts not asunder where those holy feet are pressed.

  And the madman, chained and tortured by dark powers, from whom all fly,
    As the tombs, that were his dwelling, echo to his savage cry,
  Rushes forth and falls adoring, when he sees that Christ is nigh.

  Then the legion of foul spirits, driven from their human prey,
    Seize the noisome swine, that feeding high upon the hillside stray,
  And the herd, in sudden frenzy, plunges in the waters grey.