1 Hail to the morn that dawns on eastern hills,
More radiant far than any earthly morn;
’Tis heavenly light that all creation fills—
The Christ is born.

2 Mystery profound, through all the ages sealed,
Now, to a world all hopeless, and forlorn,
In Bethlehem’s manger is at length revealed—
The Christ is born.

3 Lo, from their watch the herdsmen raise their eyes,
For dazzling light the robe of night had torn,
And angels poured their raptures from the skies—
The Christ is born.

4 Bring ye your gifts of gold and incense rare,
Wise men who come, all travel-stained and worn;
Find ye the Child, and pay your homage there—
The Christ is born.

5 Hail to the morn, the world exulting sings;
Only to Him, in fealty we are sworn,
Lord of our lives, immortal King of kings!—
The Christ is born.