Given, Not Lent, And Not Withdrawn--Once Sent-- This Infant Of Mankind, This One, Is Still The Little Welcome Son. New Every Year, New-Born And Newly Dear, He Comes With Tidings And A Song, The Ages Long, The Ages Long. Even As The Cold Keen Winter Grows Not Old; As Childhood Is So Fresh, Foreseen, And Spring In The Familiar Green; Sudden As Sweet Come The Expected Feet. All Joy Is Young, And New All Art, And He, Too, Whom We Have By Heart.