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 earth, goodwill to men,
from heav'n'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 heav'nly 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 angel strain have rolled
two thousand years of wrong;
And man, at war with man, hears not
the love song which they bring
O hush the noise, ye men of strife,
and hear the angels sing!

For lo! The days are hast'ning 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 send back
the song which now the angels sing!