Hark! a voice from yonder manger,
Soft and sweet, doth entreat:
Flee from woe and danger;
Brethren, come;from all doth grieve you,
You are freed; all you need I will surely give you.
Cold on His cradle the dew-drops are shining;
Low lies His head with the beasts of the stall;
Angels adore Him in slumber reclining,
Maker, and Monarch, and Saviour of all.