Almighty Framer of the Skies! 
O let our pure devotion rise, 
Like Incense in thy Sight! 
Wrapt in impenetrable Shade 
The Texture of our Souls were made 
Till thy Command gave light. 
The Sun of Glory gleam'd the Ray, 
Refin'd the Darkness into Day, 
And bid the Vapours fly; 
Impell'd by his eternal Love 
He left his Palaces above 
To cheer our gloomy Sky. 

How shall we celebrate the day, 
When God appeared in mortal clay, 
The mark of worldly scorn; 
When the Archangel's heavenly Lays, 
Attempted the Redeemer's Praise 
And hail'd Salvation's Morn! 
 

A Humble Form the Godhead wore, 
The Pains of Poverty he bore, 
To gaudy Pomp unknown; 
Tho' in a human walk he trod 
Still was the Man Almighty God 
In Glory all his own. 

Despis'd, oppress'd, the Godhead bears 
The Torments of this Vale of tears; 
Nor bade his Vengeance rise; 
He saw the Creatures he had made, 
Revile his Power, his Peace invade; 
He saw with Mercy's Eyes. 

How shall we celebrate his Name, 
Who groan'd beneath a Life of shame 
In all Afflictions tried! 
The Soul is raptured to concieve 
A Truth, which Being must believe, 
The God Eternal died. 

My Soul exert thy Powers, adore, 
Upon Devotion's plumage sar 
To celebrate the Day; 
The God from whom Creation sprung 
Shall animate my grateful Tongue; 
From him I'll catch the Lay!