I LOVE the soft incoming tide
That breaks in showers of silver spray,
I love the dawn that opens wide
The floodgates of the living day,

I love the harvest voice that speaks
From each green blade of growing corn,
I love the first faint beam that breaks
Across the heart in sorrow's morn,

But fairer than the silver tide,
And brighter than the morning's flood
The light on Bethlehem's meadows wide
Where Eder's ancient watch-tower stood.

O little town of Bethlehem
Where Christ, the perfect man, was born,
What healing balm thou hast for them
Whose feet are tired and travel-worn,

The Angels' song thy shepherds heard
Makes music still among the years,
Thou driest with thy magic word
The piteous fount of human tears;

O fairer than the silver tide
And brighter than the morning's flood
The light across thy meadows wide,
Where Eder's ancient watch-tower stood.