’Twas in the winter cold, when earth
Was desolate and wild,
That angels welcomed at His birth
The everlasting Child.
From realms of ever bright’ning day,
And from His throne above
He came with humankind to stay,
All lowliness and love.

 

Then in the manger the poor beast
Was present with his Lord;
Then swains and pilgrims from the East
Saw, wondered, and adored.
And I this morn would come with them
This blessèd sight to see,
And to the Babe of Bethlehem
Bend low the reverent knee.

But I have not, it makes me sigh,
One offering in my power;
’Tis winter all with me, and I
Have neither fruit nor flower.
O God, O Brother, let me me give
My worthless self to Thee;
And that the years which I may live
May pure and spotless be.

Grant me Thyself, O Savior kind,
The Spirit undefiled,
That I may be in heart and mind
As gentle as a child;
That I may tread life’s arduous ways
As Thou Thyself hast trod,
And in the might of prayer and praise
Keep ever close to God.

Light of the everlasting morn,
Deep through my spirit shine;
There let Thy presence newly born
Make all my being Thine:
There try me as the silver, try,
And cleanse my soul with care,
Till Thou art able to descry
Thy faultless image there.