The Christmas Story

Revision of a Nineteeth-Century Poem by Rev. F. C. Fisher

Long, long ago, the angel throng
O'er Judah's hills appearing,
First chanted their immortal song
In lowly shepherds' hearing;
We too should sing,
Because our King,
Whose love can never vary,
For us was born,
On Christmas morn,
Of Israel's Virgin Mary.

Of old He was the Father's Son,
On throne of glory seated:
By Him God spoke and it was done,
When earth was first created.
That loving toil,
Did Satan spoil
By Adam's wrong behavior,
But God did send
The sinner's Friend,
His Son, to be our Savior.

No common birth such hope could give,
That man should save his brother:
A humble maid from all that live
God chose to be His mother;
For as she heard
The angel's word,
The Spirit came upon her,
And full of grace
She bowed her face,
To bear such wondrous honor.

Now praise the Lord, nor from Him roam,
For in His love unshaken,
He shepherds all His children home,
That none might be forsaken;
God's regal Son
All rights did shun
and left eternal glory:
And humbled thus,
He died for us,
And that's the Christmas story.

Come, one and all,
Hark to the call
Love makes for love's replying;
See where He lies
Who left the skies
To bring us life undying.


This is a nineteenth century poem by Rev. F. C. Fisher, revised in 2001 by Ed Rickard. For the sake of comparison, I am appending the original poem.



Long, long ago, the Angel throng
O'er Judah's hills appearing,
First chanted their immortal song
In holy shepherds' hearing;
And we must sing,
For Christ our King,
Whose love can never vary,
For us was born,
On Christmas morn,
Of Blessed Virgin Mary.

Of old He was the Father's Son,
On throne of glory seated:
By Him God spake and it was done,
When earth was first created.
That loving toil
The devil did spoil
By Adam's ill behavior,
But God did send
The sinner's Friend
His Son to be our Savior.

No common birth such hope could give,
That man should save his brother:
The purest maid of all that live
God chose to be His mother;
For as she heard
The angel's word,
The Spirit came upon her,
And full of grace
She bow'd her face,
To bear such wondrous honour.

Now praise the Lord, who thus did come,
And in His love hath taken
A way to call His children home,
That none might be forsaken;
The Son of God
In heav'n's abode,
Possess'd eternal glory:
Yet He for us
Was humbled thus,
And that's the Christmas Story.

Come, one and all,
Hark to the call,
Love makes for love's replying;
See where He lies
Who left the skies
To bring us life undying.