Behold a little child,
laid in a manger bed;
The wintry blasts blow wild
around His infant head;
But who is this so lowly laid?
'Tis He by Whom the worlds were made.
The hands that all things made
An earthly craft pursue;
Where Joseph plies his trade,
There Jesus labours too,
That weary men in him may rest,
And faithful toil through Him be blest.
Christ, Master carpenter,
We come rough-hewn to Thee;
At last, through wood and nails,
Thou mad’st us whole and free.
In this Thy world remake us, planned
To truer beauty of Thine hand.