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 goodwill to men from heav’ns 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.

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 splendors fling,

And the whole world give back the song which now the angels sing.