1 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, good will to all, from heav'n's all-gracious king." The world in solemn stillness lay to hear the angels sing.
2 Still through the cloven skies they come
with peaceful wings unfurled, and still their heav'nly music floats o'er all the weary world. Above its sad and lowly plains they bend on hov'ring wing, and ever o'er its babel sounds the blessed angels sing.
3 And you, 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!
4 For lo! The days are hast’ning on,
by prophets seen of old, when with the ever-circling years shall come the time foretold, when peace shall over all the earth its ancient splendors fling, and all the world give back the song which now the angels sing.