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It came upon the midnight clear, |
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That glorious song of old, |
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From angels bending near the earth |
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To touch their harps of gold! |
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Peace on the earth, good will to men, |
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From heaven's all gracious King! |
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The world in solemn stillness lay |
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To hear the angels sing. |
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Still through the cloven skies they come |
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With peaceful wings unfurled |
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And still their heavenly music floats |
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O'er all the weary world; |
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Above its sad and lowly plains |
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They bend on hovering wing. |
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And ever o'er its Babel sounds |
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The blessed angels sing. |
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Yet with te woes of sin and strife |
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The world hath suffered long; |
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Beneath the angel-strain have rolled |
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Two thousand years of wrong; |
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And man, at war with man, hears not |
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The love song which they bring: |
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O hush the noise, ye men of strife, |
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And hear the angels sing. |
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For lo! the days are hastening on, |
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By prophet bards foretold, |
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When, with the ever-circling years, |
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Shall come the Age of Gold; |
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When peace shall over all the earth |
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Its ancient splendors fling, |
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And all the world give back the song |
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Which now the angels sing. |
