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 come
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.
Yet with the woes of sin and strife
The world has suffered long;
Beneath the heavenly strain have rolled
Two thousand years of
wrong;
And man, at war with man, hears not
The tidings which
they bring;
O hush the noise, ye men of strife,
And hear the
angels sing!
O 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;
O
rest beside the weary road
And hear the angels sing!