The blasts of chill De­cem­ber sound
The fare­well of the year,
And night’s swift sha­dows ga­ther­ing round
O’ercloud the soul with fear;
But rest you well, good Chris­tian men,
Nor be of heart for­lorn;
December’s dark­ness brings again
The Light of Christ­mas morn.

The wel­come snow at Christ­mas­tide
Falls shin­ing from the skies:
On vil­lage paths and up­lands wide
All ho­ly-white it lies;
It crowns with pearl the oaks and pines,
And glit­ters on the thorn;
But pur­er is the Light that shines
On glad­some Christ­mas morn.

At Christ­mas­tide the grac­ious moon
Keeps vi­gil while we sleep,
And sheds abroad her light’s sweet boon,
On vale and mount­ain-steep;
O’er all the slum­ber­ing land des­cends
Her ra­di­an­cy un­shorn;
But bright­er is the light, good friends,
That shines on Christ­mas morn.

’Twas when the world was wax­ing old,
And night on Beth­le­hem lay,
The shep­herds saw the hea­vens un­fold
A light be­yond the day;
Such glo­ry ne’er had vi­sit­ed
A world with sin out­worn;
But yet more glo­ri­ous Light is shed
On hap­py Christ­mas morn.

Those shep­herds poor, how blest were they
The an­gels’ song to hear!
In man­ger cra­dle as He lay,
To greet their Lord so dear!
The Lord of Hea­ven’s eter­nal height
For us a Child was born;
And He, the ve­ry Light of light,
Shone forth that Christ­mas morn!

Before His in­fant smile afar,
Were driv­en the hosts of hell;
And still in souls that child­like are
His guard­ian love shall dwell:
O then re­joice, good Chris­tian men,
Nor be of heart for­lorn;
December’s dark­ness brings again
The light of Christ­mas morn.