We sing, Immanuel, Thy praise,
Thou Prince of Life and Fount of grace,
Thou Flower of heaven and Star of morn,
Thou Lord of lords, Thou virgin born.
For Thee, since first the world was made,
So many hearts have watched and prayed;
The patriarchs’ and prophets’ throng
For Thee have hoped and waited long.
Now art Thou here, Thou ever blest!
In lowly manger dost Thou rest.
Thou, making all things great, art small;
So poor art Thou, yet clothest all.
From Thee above all gladness flows,
Yet Thou must bear such bitter woes;
The Gentiles’ Light and Hope Thou art,
Yet findest none to soothe Thine heart.
But I, Thy servant, Lord, today
Confess my love and freely say,
I love Thee truly, but I would
That I might love Thee as I should.
I have the will, the power is weak;
Yet, Lord, my humble offering take
And graciously the love receive
Which my poor heart to Thee can give.
Had I no load of sin to bear,
Thy grace, O Lord, I could not share;
In vain hadst Thou been born for me
If from God’s wrath I had been free.
Thus will I sing Thy praises here
With joyful spirit year by year;
And when we reckon years no more,
May I in Heaven Thy Name adore!