Unto You

"Unto you," yes, even you, O weary heart and worn,
Unto you whose feet are tired, whose trembling hands are torn;
"Unto you," this sacred morn, come tidings from above
Which whisper of a Saviour born, and speaks His tones of love.

"Unto you," yes, even you, is Jesus born today,
If you will meekly give Him room, and bid your sweet Guest stay;
Though all the world may have their share, yet He is all for you,
He'll rest His head within your heart, and shed His love to true.

He does not ask for palace rare, to make His royal home,
He does not seek for costly fare, but love's sweet bidding, "Come";
He seeks a subject fond and true to yield to His blest sway,
To let the brightness of His smile light up your weary way.

"Unto you," though least of all His little ones today.
The star of Bethlehem doth shine, with gladness in its ray;
"Unto you," though small your strength, and weak the praise you bring,
"Unto you," dear trembling one, He comes your Lord and King.

"Unto you," this Christmas-tide; with your longing heart
The angels sing their song again, with all their heavenly art,
Nay, sweeter far than their sweet song, the Spirit from above
Small bring the tidings of your King, and whisper of His love.

Carry Judd Montgomery