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It came upon a 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 unfurled,
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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 sound the blessed angels sing.
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And 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 gad 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.
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