1 Hail Progeny divine!
Hail virgin’s wondrous Son!
Who, for that humble shrine,
Didst quit th’Almighty’s throne;
The infant Lord our voices sing,
And be the King of grace adored.
2 Ye princes, disappear,
And boast your crowns no more;
Lay down your scepters here,
And in the dust adore:
Where Jesus dwells, the manger bare
In luster far your pomp excels.
3 With Bethlem’s shepherds mild
The angels bow their head;
And round the sacred Child
Their guardian wings they spread;
They knew, that where their sovereign lies
In low disguise Heav’n’s court is there.
4 Thither, my soul, repair,
And early homage pay
To Thy Redeemer fair
As on His natal day.
I kiss Thy feet, and Lord, would be
A child like Thee, whom thus I greet.