Christmas

O’er our vision wakes the morn
When our Saviour Christ was born;
And the earliest light it brings
O’er our souls a gladness flings.

Higher mounts the regal sun—
Symbol of the Holy One—
Of whose birth we hail the day—
Who o’er Earth shall hold all sway.

Who can limit or confine,
Triumphs of the Lord divine
Of whom prophets’ lips of fire
Sang of old to Judah’s Lyre?

And to whom each clime has strung
Harps, to music such as rung
On that first, resplendent morn,
When the infant worlds were born.