The Word descends and dwells in clay,
That He may hold converse with worms,
Dressed in such feeble flesh as they.
Mortals with joy beheld His face,
The Eternal Father’s only Son;
How full of truth! how full of grace!
When through His eyes the Godhead shone.
Archangels leave their high abode
To learn new myst’ries here, and tell
The loves of our descending God,