Samuel Rickards (1796–1865)

THOUGH rude winds usher thee, sweet day,

Though clouds thy face deform,

Though nature’s grace is swept away

Before the sleety storm;

Ev’n in thy sombrest wintry vest,

Of blessed days thou art most blest.

Nor frigid air nor gloomy morn

Shall check our jubilee;

Bright is the day when Christ was born,

No sun need shine but He;

Let roughest storms their coldest blow,

With love of Him our hearts shall glow.

Inspired with high and holy thought,

Fancy is on the wing;

It seems as to mine ear it brought

Those voices carolling,

Voices through heaven and earth that ran,

Glory to God, goodwill to man.

I see the shepherds gazing wild

At those fair spirits of light;

I see them bending o’er the Child

With that untold delight

Which marks the face of those who view

Things but too happy to be true.

There, in the lowly manger laid,

Incarnate God they see;

He stoops to take, through spotless maid,

Our frail humanity:

Son of high God, creation’s Heir,

He leaves His Heaven to raise us there.

Through Him, Lord, we are born anew,

Thy children once again;

Oh! day by day our hearts renew,

That Thine we may remain,

And, angel-like, may all agree,

One sweet and holy family.

Oft, as this joyous morn doth come

To speak our Saviour’s love,

Oh, may it bear our spirits home

Where He now reigns above;

That day which brought Him from the skies,

So man restores to Paradise!

Then let winds usher thee, sweet day,

Let clouds thy face deform;

Though nature’s grace is swept away

Before thy sleety storm;

Ev’n in thy sombrest wintry vest,

Of blessed days thou art most blest.

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