How Blest Is The Season At Which

How blest is the season, at which we appear!
Bow down, sense and reason, faith only reigns here.
‘Tis hard by mere nature with coldness or scorn,
That God our creator an infant was born.

Lost souls to recover and form them afresh
Our wonderful lover took flesh of our flesh:
Then let each dull dreamer awake to this morn
And hail the Redeemer at Bethlehem born.

Ye drunkards, ye swearers, ye muckworms of earth,
Repent, and be sharers in this blessed birth.
From sin to release us that yoke so long worn,
The holy Child Jesus of Mary was born.

Opposers, transgressors, of every degree,
And formal professors, the worst of the three,
With tears of contrition your foolishness mourn;
To give you remission Immanuel’s born.

Ye vilest of creatures, backsliders so base,
Bold rebels and traitors, abusers of grace,
Come, cease your backslidings, and once more return:
Receive the glad tidings, a Savior is born.

Poor sinners dejected, of comfort debarred,
Whose hearts are afflicted because they’re so hard,
Despairing of favor, cold, lifeless, forlorn!
Remember the Savior in winter was born.

And ye that sincerely confide in the Lamb
(He loves you most dearly), rejoice in His name.
No more the believer from God shall be torn;
To hold him for ever an infant is born.