Robin upon yonder thorn,
Welcoming this Christmas morn,
Sweet, oh, very sweet to me
Is thy joyous minstrelsy.
Yet not thine the only lay
Celebrating the glad day:
One great harmony's abroad,
One great psalm is sung to God—
In the deserts, in the floods,
'Midst earth's deepest solitudes.
Hark! among the forest trees
Wildly chants the swelling breeze,
Whilst the sea, with voice sublime,
Rolls and sings from clime to clime;
And the tiny waterfall
Adds its plaintive madrigal:
Yet not theirs the sweetest lay
Heard by God on Christmas Day.

Bird of beauty, in life's spring,
Lisping cherub, tune thy string;
Give thy precious little gem
To the Babe of Bethlehem.

Youth, who on your tiptoe stand
Of your manhood's promised land,
To get brief but golden gleams,
Sing to-day, forget your dreams.
Maiden in thy beauty's bloom,
Sire who tott'rest to thy tomb,
Queen and peasant join the throng,
Swell the Halleluia song;
Dear to God shall be each part
Rising from a grateful heart:
Yet not yours the sweetest lay
Heard by Him on Christmas Day.

All ye righteous ninety-nine
Who have kept the laws Divine—
Stern unbending ones who've ne'er
Charity for those who err—
Sour ascetic souls that frown
Every harmless pleasure down,
Frowning on the infant's wiles,
Frowning on the maiden's smiles;
Who forget amidst your gloom
Birds do sing and roses bloom;
Laud—but yours is not the lay
Dear to God on Christmas Day.

Sinner, hopeless and forlorn,
Thou whom the self-righteous scorn,
Ope thy heart in spite of sin,
Christ the Lord shall enter in—
Thy heart the palace of a king—
What a carol thou shalt sing;
Then o'er thee frail child of earth,
Gladly as at Jesu's birth,
Th' angel host shall sing again,
“Peace on earth, goodwill to men.”
And our God shall bend His ear,
Graciously thy song to hear—
'Tis by far the sweetest lay
Heard by Him on Christmas Day.