Joy to the world! the Saviour reigns:

Let men their songs employ;

While fields and floods, rocks, hills, and plains,
Repeat the sounding joy.

No more let sin and sorrow grow,
Nor thorns infest the ground:
He comes to make His blessings flow
Far as the curse is found.

He rules the world with truth and grace,
And makes the nations prove
The glories of His righteousness,
And wonders of His love.

HARK, HOW ALL THE WELKIN
RINGS!

CHARLES WESLEY. From his Hymns and Sacred Poems, 1739.

ARK, how all the welkin rings!

HA

Glory to the King of kings!

Peace on earth and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled!

Joyful, all ye nations, rise,

Join the triumph of the skies;
Universal nature say,

Christ the Lord is born to-day!

HARK, HOW ALL THE WELKIN RINGS!

Christ, by highest Heaven adored;
Christ, the Everlasting Lord;
Late in time behold Him come,
Offspring of a Virgin's womb :
Veiled in flesh the Godhead see;
Hail the Incarnate Deity,

Pleased as man with men to appear,
Jesus, our Immanuel here!

Hail, the heavenly Prince of Peace!
Hail, the Son of Righteousness!
Light and life to all He brings,
Risen with healing in His wings.
Mild He lays His glory by,
Born that man no more may die,
Born to raise the sons of earth,
Born to give them second birth.

Come, Desire of nations, come,
Fix in us Thy humble home!
Rise, the Woman's conquering Seed,
Bruise in us the Serpent's head!
Now display Thy saving power,
Ruined nature now restore;

Now in mystic union join

Thine to ours, and ours to Thine!

Adam's likeness, Lord, efface;
Stamp Thine image in its place;
Second Adam from above,
Reinstate us in Thy love!

67

Let us Thee, though lost, regain,
Thee, the Life, the Heavenly Man:
Oh, to all Thyself impart,
Formed in each believing heart!

HARK, THE GLAD SOUND!

PHILIP DODDRIDGE, D.D., died 1751.

HARK, the glad sound! the Saviour comes,
The Saviour promised long!

Let every heart prepare a throne,
And every voice a song!

On Him the Spirit, largely poured,

Exerts its sacred fire;

Wisdom and might, and zeal and love,
His holy breast inspire.

He comes, the prisoners to release,
In Satan's bondage held;

The gates of brass before Him burst,
The iron fetters yield.

He comes, from thickest films of vice
To clear the mental ray,

And on the eyeballs of the blind

To pour celestial day.

OH, HOW WONDROUS IS THE STORY!

He comes, the broken heart to bind,
The bleeding soul to cure,
And with the treasure of His grace
Enrich the humble poor.

His silver trumpets publish loud
The jubilee of the Lord;
Our debts are all remitted now,
Our heritage restored.

Our glad hosannas, Prince of Peace,
Thy welcome shall proclaim,
And heaven's eternal arches ring
With Thy belovèd name.

69

OH, HOW WONDROUS IS THE STORY!

HANNAH MORE, born 1745, died 1833

H, how wondrous is the story

Of our blest Redeemer's birth!

See, the mighty Lord of glory
Leaves His heaven to visit earth.

Hear with transport, every creature,--
Hear the gospel's joyful sound:
Christ appears in human nature, —
In our sinful world is found.

Comes to pardon our transgression,

Like a cloud our sins to blot; Comes to His own favored nation, But His own receive Him not.

If the angels who attended

To declare the Saviour's birth, Who from heaven with songs descended To proclaim good-will on earth, —

If, in pity to our blindness,

They had brought the pardon needed, Still Jehovah's wondrous kindness Had our warmest hopes exceeded.

If some prophet had been sent

With salvation's joyful news, Who that heard the blest event

Could their warmest love refuse?

But 'twas He to whom in heaven
Hallelujahs never cease;
He, the mighty God, was given,
Given to us, a Prince of peace.

None but He who did create us

Could redeem from sin and hell;

None but He could reinstate us

In the rank from which we fell.