Christmas day is come; let's all prepare for mirth, Which fills the heav'ns and earth at this amazing birth.
Through both the joyous angels in strife and hurry fly, with glory and hosannas, "All holy" do they cry,
In heav'n the Church triumphant adores with all her choirs,
The militant on earth with humble faith admires.

But why should we rejoice? Should we not rather mourn
To see the hope of nations thus in a stable born?
Where are his crown and sceptre, where is his throne sublime,
Where is the train majestic that should the stars outshine?
There no sumptuous palace nor any inn at all
To lodge his heav'nly mother but in a filthy stall?