Sunday Hymn: Brightest and Best of the Sons of the Morning

Brightest and best of the sons of the morn­ing,
Dawn on our dark­ness and lend us Thine aid;
Star of the East, the ho­ri­zon adorn­ing,
Guide where our in­fant Re­deem­er is laid.

Cold on His cra­dle the dew­drops are shin­ing;
Low lies His head with the beasts of the stall;
Angels adore Him in slum­ber re­clin­ing,
Maker and Mon­arch and Sav­ior of all!

Say, shall we yield Him, in cost­ly de­vo­tion,
Odors of Ed­om and of­fer­ings di­vine?
Gems of the mount­ain and pearls of the ocean,
Myrrh from the for­est, or gold from the mine?

Vainly we of­fer each am­ple obla­tion,
Vainly with gifts would His fa­vor se­cure;
Richer by far is the heart’s ado­ra­tion,
Dearer to God are the pray­ers of the poor.

Hail the blest morn when the great Me­di­at­or
Down from the re­gions of glo­ry des­cends.
Shepherds, go wor­ship the Babe in the man­ger;
Lo! for His guard the bright an­gels at­tend.

 —Reginald Heber