Hark! the song of choirs an­gel­ic,
Radiant in their robes of white,
Gently borne up­on the breez­es,
Breaks the si­lence of the night.
Wake, O sleep­er! Wake right ear­ly!
Herald an­gels sing to thee,
Music swell­ing, joy fore­tell­ing—
’Tis thy Lord’s na­ti­vi­ty.

Filled with fear, the wake­ful shep­herds
Listened to the an­gels’ lay,
Reassured, they learn the mes­sage:
“Christ, your Lord, is born to­day!
Peace on earth, good-will to men
Through eter­nal ag­es be.”
Sighs and sad­ness, turn to glad­ness
On the Lord’s na­ti­vi­ty!

Lowly in a man­ger ly­ing,
Heav’nly light around Thee shed,
Object of our praise un­dy­ing;
Holy Child in hum­ble bed;
May Thy birth­day ev­er find us
Praising the Eter­nal Three,
Who, to save us, free­ly gave us
Life, with Thy na­ti­vi­ty.

Year by year, Thy Church un­sleep­ing
Careful of Thy lambs be­low,
Still her faith­ful watch is keep­ing,
Till her cup of joy o’er­flow;
Praises will she ev­er min­gle
With her glad fes­ti­vi­ty:
Carols singing, joy­bells ring­ing,
On her Lord’s na­ti­vi­ty.