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John Brownlie


Δευτε αγαλλιασωμεθα τϖ χυριω, το παρον μυστηριον εκδιηγουμενοι

Come, let us sing with joyful mirth

The mystery of Immanuel's birth,

Who, virgin born, is here;

The middle wall no longer stands,

No flaming sword in cherub's hands

Inspires the soul with fear.

See, clear the pathway open lies

That upward leads to Paradise,

Where stands the Tree of Life;

And freely may I enter in,

Whence I was driven by mortal sin,

And worsted in the strife.


For He, the Father's only Son,

A glorious work hath now begun,

Descending from above

In servant's form, though yet the Son,

Unchanging while the ages run,

To win us by His love.

Come, now, let hearts united be

To laud His praises joyfully,

The God-Man born to-day.

And let Thy mercy reach us now,

For pitiful and kind art Thou,

O Virgin born, we pray.

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