The Glorious Song Of Old



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 men,

From heaven's all-gracious King--

The world in solemn stillness lay

To hear the angels sing.

Still through the cloven skies they com

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.

But with the woes of sin and strife

The world has suffered long;

Beneath the angel-strain have rolled

Two thousand years of wrong.

And man at war with man hears not

The love-song which they bring;

Oh, hush the noise, ye men of strife,

And hear the angels sing!

And 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 the hastening on

By prophet-bards foretold,

When with the ever-circling years

Comes round the age of gold;

When peace shall over all the earth

Its ancient splendors fling,

And the whole world give back the song

Which now the angels sing.