Given, not lent, And not withdrawn--once sent - This Infant of mankind, this One, Is still the little welcome Son.
New every year, New-born and newly dear, He comes with tidings and a song, The ages long, the ages long.
Even as the cold Keen winter grows not old; As childhood is so fresh, foreseen, And spring in the familiar green;Sudden as sweet Come the expected feet. All joy is young, and new all art, And He, too, Whom we have by heart.
