The Hymns and Carols of Christmas

From Yonder World I Come To Earth

For Christmas Eve

Words: Vom Himmel hoch da komm ich her, by Martin Luther
From Joseph Klug's Gesangsbuch, 1535
Notes and Translations: Notes for Vom Himmel Hoch Da Komm Ich Her

Text based on Luke 2: 1-18

Translator: John Hunt

Source: John Hunt, The Spiritual Songs of Martin Luther (London: Hamilton, Adams, & Co., 1853), pp. 30-32.

A Song For Children On the Nativity Of The Holy Child Jesus

From yonder world I come to earth,
To tell you of a Saviour's birth;
Let now the glad Hosannahs ring—
Good news to fallen man I bring!

To you this day is born a Child,
Son of a Virgin undefiled;
A little babe—a gracious sight—
He'll be your wonder and delight.

'Tis Jesus Christ, the Heavenly King!
Who doth for all a ransom bring:
He will Himself the Saviour be—
From all your sins He'll set you free.

He brings Salvation from above,
Which God for you prepared in love;
That you with us beyond the sky
May live in bliss, enthroned on high!

Then mark you now the signs aright—
The crib, the swaddling mean and light;
The little babe you there shall find,
Received and hailed by all mankind.

Oh! let us all be glad to-day,
And with the shepherds homage pay:
Come, see what God to us hath given,
His only Son, sent down from heaven.

Awake, my soul! from sadness rise,
Come, see what in the manger lies:
Who is this smiling infant Child ?—
'Tis little Jesus, sweet and mild.

Twice welcome, oh! Thou heavenly guest,
To save a world with sin distressed;
Com'st Thou in lowly guise for me?
What homage shall I give to Thee!

Ah! Lord, eternal heavenly King,
Hast thou become so mean a thing;
And hast Thou left Thy blissful seat,
To rest where colts and oxen eat 1

Were this wide world much wider made,
With gold and costly gems arrayed;
E'en then, by far too mean 'twould be,
To make a little crib for Thee.

No silken robes surround Thy head—
A bunch of hay is all Thy bed!
Where Thou, a King, so rich and great,
Art bright as in Thy heavenly state.

All this, my Lord, has come to Thee,
That Thou might'st show Thy truth to me:
Thou, who hast made the earth and sky,
Hast deigned, a helpless babe, to lie.

Jesus, my Saviour, come to me—
Make here a little crib for Thee;
A bed make in this heart of mine,
That I may aye remember Thine.

Then, from my soul glad songs shall ring—
Of Thee each day I'll gaily sing:
The glad Hosannahs will I raise
From heart that loves to sing Thy praise!

Praise God, ye seraphs round the throne—
Praise ye the Father and the Son;
God's angel doth to us appear—
Then let us hail the glad New Year.

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