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 heav'n's all gracious King:" The
world in solemn stillness lay To hear the angels sing.

Still thro' 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 hov'ring wing: And
ever o'er its Babel sounds The blessed 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 golden hours Come swiftly on the wing; O
rest beside the weary road, And hear the angels sing.

For lo, the days are hast'ning on, By prophet bards foretold,
When the ever circling years Comes round the age of gold,
When peace shall over all the earth Its ancient splendors fling, And
the world would give back the song Which now the angels sing. AMEN.

Edmund H. Sears