| |
| It Came Upon The Midnight Clear |
| |
| It came upon the midnight clear |
| That glorious song of old, |
| From angels bending near the earth, |
| To touch their harps of gold: |
| "Peace on the earth, goodwill to men |
| From heavens all gracious King!" |
| The world in solemn stillness lay |
| To hear the angels sing. |
| |
| Still through the cloven skies they come, |
| With peaceful wings unfurled; |
| And still their heavenly music floats |
| O'er all the weary world: |
| Above its sad and lowly plains |
| They bend on hovering wing, |
| And ever o'er its Babel sounds |
| The blessed angels sing. |
| |
| O ye beneath life's crushing load, |
| Whose forms are bending low, |
| Who toil along the climbing way |
| With painful steps and slow; |
| Look now, for glad and golden hours |
| Come swiftly on the wing; |
| Oh rest beside the weary road |
| And hear the angels sing. |
| |
| For lo! the days are hastening on, |
| By prophets seen of old, |
| When with the ever-circling years |
| Shall come the time foretold, |
| When the new heaven and earth shall own |
| The Prince of Peace, their King, |
| And the whole world send back the song |
| Which now the angels sing. |
| |
| |
