It Came Upon a Midnight Clear

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 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 sing and strife the world has suffered long;
Beneath the angel strain have rolled two thousand years of wrong;
And, when at war, we fail to hear the love song which they bring:
O hush the noise that warfare brings, and hear the angels sing!

For, lo! The days are 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 splendours fling,
And the whole world give back the song which now the angels sing.