From lands that see the sun arise To earth's remotest boundaries, The Virgin-born to-day we sing, The Son of Mary, Christ the King. Blest Author of this earthly frame, To take a servant's form He came, That, liberating flesh by flesh, Whom He had made might live afresh. In that chaste parent's holy womb Celestial grace hath found its home; And she, as earthly bride unknown, Yet calls that Offspring blest her own. The mansion of the modest breast Becomes a shrine where God shall rest: The pure and undefilèd one Conceivèd in her womb the Son. That Son, that Royal Son she bore, Whom Gabriel's voice had told afore; Whom, in His mother yet concealed, The infant Baptist had revealed. The manger and the straw He bore, The cradle did He not abhor; By milk in infant portions fed, Who gives e'en fowls their daily bread. The heavenly chorus filled the sky, The Angels sang to God on high, What time to shepherds, watching lone, They made creation's Shepherd known. All honor, laud, and glory be, O Jesu, Virgin-born to Thee: All glory, as is ever meet, To Father and to Paraclete.