John Mason Neale

O come, O come, Emmanuel, And ransom captive Israel.

Jerusalem the golden! With milk and honey blest, Beneath thy contemplation Sink heart and voice opprest: I know not, oh, I know not What joys await us there; What radiancy of glory,

Brief life is here our portion, Brief sorrow, short-lived care: The Life that knows no ending, The tearless Life, is there.

In his master’s steps he trod, Where the snow lay dinted; Heat was in the very sod Which the Saint had printed.

Bring me flesh, and bring me wine, Bring me pine-logs hither.

Good King Wenceslas look'd out On the Feast of Stephen, When the snow lay round about, Deep, and crisp, and even.

All glory, laud, and honour To Thee, Redeemer, King! To Whom the lips of children Made sweet Hosannas ring.