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When Thou, O Lord, in flesh wert drest, The world Thou mad'st to free,
The Inn, where weary travellers rest, Had not a room for Thee.
The Holy Babe in manger rude
Was all His birth-night laid ; Pondering God's words, in thoughtful mood,
Nigh watched the Mother Maid.
But oh ! that wondrous midnight round What light, what glories throng,
When man his infant Saviour found, And heard the angels' song !
Sweet anthem ! caught from hosts on high,
Dwell thou our hearts within ; Blest bridal of the earth and sky,
Long separate through sin.
Though all unmeet that gladsome hymn
For harps by sin unstrung, That psalm, by white-robed seraphim
In God's own presence sung,
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