Written By Edmund Sears
It came up-on the mid-night clear, That glo-rious song of old,
From an-gels bend-ing near the earth To touch their harps of gold:
Peace on the earth, good will to men, From heav’n’s all gra-cious King!
The world in sol-emn still-ness lay To hear the an-gels sing.
Still through the clo-ven skies they come With peace-ful wings un-furled,
And still their heav’n-ly mu-sic floats O’er all the wea-ry world:
A-bove its sad and lowly plains They bend on hov-‘ring wing,
And ev-er o’er its Ba-bel sounds The bless-ed an-gels sing.
And ye, be-neath life’s crush-ing load, Whose forms are bend-ing low,
Who toil a-long the climb-ing way With pain-ful steps and slow,
Look now! For glad and gold-en hours Come swift-ly on the wing:
O rest be-side the wea-ry road And hear the an-glels sing.
For lo, the days are has-t’ning on, By proph-et bards fore-told,
When with the ev-er cir-cling years Comes round the age of gold;
When peace shall o-ver all the earth Its an-cient splen-dors fling,
And the whole world give back the song Which now the an-gels sing.