From lands that see the sun arise, to earth’s remotest boundaries, the Virgin-born today we sing, the Son of Mary, Christ the King.
Beatus auctor saeculi servile corpus induit, ut carne carnem liberans non perderet quod condidit.
Clausae parentis viscera caelestis intrat gratia; venter puellae baiulat secreta quae non noverat.
Domus pudici pectoris templum repente fit Dei; intacta nesciens virum verbo concepit Filium.
Enixa est puerpera quem Gabriel praedixerat, quem matris alvo gestiens clausus Ioannes senserat.
Feno iacere pertulit, praesepe non abhorruit, parvoque lacte pastus est per quem nec ales esurit.
Gaudet chorus caelestium et Angeli canunt Deum, palamque fit pastoribus Pastor, Creator omnium.
Blest Author of this earthly frame, to take a servant’s form he came, that liberating flesh by flesh, whom he had made might live afresh.
In that chaste parent’s holy womb, celestial grace hath found its home: and she, as earthly bride unknown, yet call that Offspring blest her own.
The mansion of the modest breast becomes a shrine where God shall rest: the pure and undefiled one conceived in her womb the Son.
That Son, that royal Son she bore, whom Gabriel’s voice had told afore: whom, in his Mother yet concealed, the Infant Baptist had revealed.
The manger and the straw he bore, the cradle did he not abhor: a little milk his infant fare who feedeth even each fowl of air.
The heavenly chorus filled the sky, the Angels sang to God on high, what time to shepherds watching lone they made creation’s Shepherd known.