IT came upon the midnight clear,

That glorious song of old, 

From angels bending near the earth,

To touch their harps of gold: 

"Peace to 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 sky they come

With peaceful wings unfurled, 

And still their heavenly music floats

O'er all the weary world. 

Above its sad and lonely plains,

Heaven's joy-bells ever ring; 

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 angel strain hath rolled

Two thousand years of wrong! 

And men at war with men hear not

The love-song which they bring; 

Oh! Hush your 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 are hastening on,

By prophet word foretold, 

When with the ever-circling years

Comes round the age of gold; 

When peace shall, o'er all the earth,

Its ancient splendor fling, 

And the whole world send back the song 

Which now the angels sing.