Open your hearts ere I am gone,
And hear my old, old story;
For I am the month that first looked down
On the beautiful Babe of glory.
You never must call me lone and drear
Because no birds are singing;
Open your hearts, and you shall hear
The song of the angels ringing.
Open your hearts, and hear the feet
Of the star-led Wise Men, olden;
Bring out your treasures of incense sweet;
Lay down your offerings golden.
You say you look, but you see no sight
Of the wonderful Babe I'm telling;
You say they have carried him off, by night,
From Bethlehem's lowly dwelling.
Open your hearts and seek the door
Where the alway poor are staying;
For this is the story, for evermore
The Master's voice is saying:
Inasmuch as ye do it unto them.
The poor, the weak, and the stranger,
Ye do it to Jesus of Bethlehem—
Dear Babe of the star-lit manger!