Immanuel, Immanuel, my flowers—
My little children, now is Childhood done;
My intonation and my cadence one,
Immanuel, I sing with all my powers;
Immanuel, in dark or sunny hours,
Immanuel, be comfort far or nigh,
Immanuel, in sweet or songless bowers,
Immanuel, I carol till I die;
Immanuel, God with us in his meekness;
Immanuel, God with us in his might—
To bind our wounds, to gift with strength our weakness,
To bring us, angels, to the home of light.
The Son of Mary, he our world has trod;
Now, thanks and glory to the Child, our God.