This text comes from A First Series of Hymns and Songs, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
How poor and mean this little bed
On which my Saviour lies!
Yet did he the vast ocean spread,
And paint the fair blue skies.
Ah, then how sweet shall be to me
The lot my Lord did share,
And dearer far his poverty
Than treasures rich and rare!
How helpless seems this Infant God,
How weak his little form!
Yet nature trembles at his nod,
He rules the wintry storm.
When I am helpless, weak, or low,
I will not grieve or sigh,
For I will think my Lord was so,
Though he was God most high.
Oh, let me love the paths he trod,
And strive like him to be;
Since he, although my Lord and God,
Has lov'd to be like me.