I cannot tell why he whom angels worship should set his love upon the sons of men, Or why as shepherd he should seek the wand'rers to bring them back, they know not how or when. But this I know, that he was born of Mary when Bethl'em’s manger was his only home, And that he lived at Nazareth and labored, and so the saviour, saviour of the world is come. I cannot tell how silently he suffered as with his peace he graced this place of tears, Or how his heart upon the cross was broken, the crown of pain to three and thirty years. But this I know, he heals the broken-hearted, and stays our sin, and calms our lurking fear, And lifts the burden from the heavy-laden, for yet the saviour, saviour of the world is here. I cannot tell how he will win the nations, how he will claim his Earthly heritage, How satisfy the needs and aspirations of East and West, of sinner and of sage. But this I know, all flesh shall see his glory, and he shall reap the harvest he has sown, And some glad day his light will shine in splendor when he the saviour, saviour of the world is known. I cannot tell how all the lands shall worship when, at his bidding, every storm is still'd, Or who can say how great the jubilation when all the hearts of men with love are fill'd. But this I know, the skies will thrill with rapture, and myriad, myriad human voices sing, And Earth to Heav'n, and Heav'n to Earth, will answer, "At last the saviour, saviour of the world is king!"