Come, ye redeemèd of the Lord,

Come, ye redeemèd of the Lord,
Your grateful tribute bring;
And celebrate, with one accord,
The birthday of our King.

Let us with humble hearts repair
(Faith will point out the road)
To little Bethlehem, and there
Adore our infant God.

In swaddling bands the Saviour view!
Let none his weakness scorn;
The feeblest heart shall hell subdue,
Where Jesus Christ is born.

No pomp adorns, no sweets perfume
The place where Christ is laid;
A stable serves him for his room,
A manger is his bed.

The crowded inn, like sinners' hearts,
(O ignorance extreme!)
For other guests, of various sorts,
Had room; but none for him.

But see what different thoughts arise
In our and angels' breasts;
To hail his birth they left the skies,
We lodged him with the beasts!

Yet let believers cease their fears,
Nor envy heavenly powers;
If sinless innocence be theirs,
Redemption all is ours.