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Treasury of Sacred Song
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CCCXXIX

Bethlehem, above all cities blest!

Th' Incarnate Saviour's earthly rest,

Where in His manger safe He lay,

By angels guarded night and day.

Bethlehem, of cities most forlorn,

Where in the dust sad mothers mourn,

Nor see the heavenly glory shed

On each pale infant's martyr'd head.

--'Tis ever thus: who CHRIST would win,

Must in the school of woe begin;

And still the nearest to His grace,

Know least of their own glorious place.

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