Hail!
Hail, as the old year turns,
A light in Winter;
Bright as the sun that burns
In highest Summer:
Wait not for Phoebus' Chariot of gold
But a new-born babe in a stable cold.
Kneel, as the hour grows late
To worship the stranger
Not to a king of state
But a babe in a manger:
Wait not for silk to kiss the marble floor
But bands of homespun lying in the straw.
Stand as the star stands still
As seers bow;
Come to the manger: Oh, come now!
Wait not to reckon what you can afford;
But give yourself completely to Your Lord.