1 Mourner, Christmas comes for thee;
Hear, with low and gentle tone,
One who whispers, "Look to Me!
Hope, for thou art not alone!"

2 Not for thee the merry throng,
Gladness making lonelier still;
Yet is thine the angels’ song,
Echoed clear from Bethlehem’s hill.

3 "Fear ye not!" from Heav’n was spoken
Long ago, on Christmas Eve;
"Fear thou not!" is still the token
Which our waiting hearts receive.

4 "Unto you the Christ is given!"
Thus sang choirs full and clear;
Now a voice on Christmas Even
Softly echoes, "He is here!"

4 He knows all, thy Lord divine;
Mourner, though thine eye be dim,
Look to Christ—His love is thine;
Take thy Christmas joy from Him.