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It came upon the midnight clear, that glorious song of old |
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From angels bending near the earth to touch their harps of gold |
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Peace on the earth, goodwill to men, from heav'n's all gracious king |
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The world in solemn stillness lay to hear the angels sing. |
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Still through the cloven skies they come with peaceful wings unfurl |
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And still their heavenly music floats, O'er all the weary world. |
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Above its sad and lowly plains they bend on hovering wing |
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And ever o'er its Babel sounds the blessed angels sing. |
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O ye, beneath life's crushing load, whose forms are bending low |
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Who toil along the climbing way with painful steps and slow |
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Look now for glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing |
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O rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing. |
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For lo the days are hastening on, by prophets seen of old |
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When with the ever circling years shall come the time foretold |
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When the new heaven and earth shall own the prince of peace their King |
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And the whole world send back the song which now the angels sing. |
