Run, Shepherds, Run!

Run, shepherds, run! Run, shepherds, run to Bethlehem.

Run, shepherds, run where Bethlem blest appears,

We bring the best of news, be not dismayed:

A Saviour there is born, more old than years,

Amidst heaven’s rolling heights this earth who stayed.

In a poor cottage inned, a virgin maid,

A weakling did him bear, who all upbears;

There is he, poorly swaddled, in manger laid,

To whom too narrow swaddlings are our spheres:

Run, shepherds, run to Bethlehem.

This is that night—no, day grown great with bliss,

In which the power of Satan broken is;

In heaven be glory, peace unto the earth.

Thus singing, through the air the angels swam,

And cope of stars re-echoed the same.

Run, shepherds, run to Bethlehem.