1 In stable low­ly
A lit­tle child is born
Of Ma­ry ho­ly,
All on the Christ­mas morn.
Yet nob­ler is His stall
Than state­ly pal­ace hall;
His grace pro­claims Him whol­ly
The light of God to all,
In sta­ble low­ly.

2 Tho’ I be­hold Him
In this poor earth­ly shrine,
Faith may en­fold Him,
In ra­di­an­cy di­vine.
Tho’ but an in­fant fair
I know the Christ is there,
As pro­phets have fore­told Him;
E’en in a man­ger bare
Tho’ I be­hold Him.

3 No lon­ger so­rrow!
For Christ His pow’r doth prove;
Our hearts may bor­row
His won­drous, heav’n­ly love.
Into this world of care
He comes, our life to share;
With Him a ra­di­ant mor­row
Dawns o’er us from ab­ove:
No long­er sor­row!