From the Gospel. [Matt.1:23]

8,8,8,8

Wir singen dir Immanuel

[55]Paul Gerhardt.1650.

trans. by Catherine Winkworth, 1855

Thee, O Immanuel, we praise,

The Prince of Life, and Fount of Grace,

The Morning Star, the Heavenly Flower,

The Virgin's Son, the Lord of Power.

With all Thy saints, Thee, Lord, we sing,

Praise, honour, thanks to Thee we bring,

That Thou, O long-expected guest,

Hast come at last to make us blest!

Since first the world began to be,

How many a heart hath longed for Thee;

Long years our fathers hoped of old

Their eyes might yet Thy Light behold:

The prophets cried; "Ah, would He came

To break the fetters of our shame;

That help from Zion came to men,

Israel were glad, and prospered then!"

Now art Thou here; we know Thee now,

In lowly manger liest Thou;

A child, yet makest all things great,

Poor, yet is earth Thy robe of state.

From Thee alone all gladness flows,

Who yet shalt bear such bitter woes;

Earth's light and comfort Thou shalt be,

Yet none shall watch to comfort Thee.

All heavens are Thine, yet Thou didst come

To sojourn in a stranger's home;

Thou hangest on Thy mother's breast

Who art the joy of spirits blest.

Now fearless I can look on Thee,

From sin and grief Thou sett'st me free;

Thou bearest wrath, Thou conquerest Death,

Fear turns to joy Thy glance beneath.

Thou art my Head, my Lord Divine,

I am Thy member, wholly Thine,

And in Thy Spirit's strength would still

Serve Thee according to Thy will.

Thus will I sing Thy praises here

With joyful spirit year by year;

And they shall sound before Thy throne,

Where time nor number more are known.