Night was rest­ing on the peo­ple,
Sin was out up­on the world,
Darkness, ere the prince of dark­ness,
From his ci­ta­del was hurled,
Ere the Prince of Peace, His stand­ard
O’er the realms of strife un­furled.

Heathen mad­ly raged with hea­then,
Each with vain imag­in­ing;
Brother hat­ed, slew his bro­ther,
King went out to war with king,
Till at length all ill abound­ed,
And the dove of peace took wing.

All the na­tions sat in dark­ness,
Loving best the veil of night;
God they would not own as rul­er,
So they put Him out of sight;
Then the flames of Hell they quick­ened,
Trampled on the true and right.

Thus the vine­yard God had plant­ed
Very good from east to west,
Wicked hus­band­men had ru­ined,
Eating, drink­ing, tak­ing rest,
Cursing with their lusts and pass­ions
What the House­hold­er had blest.

He had hedged about the vine­yard,
Dug the wine press, built the tow­er,
Let it out and giv­en or­ders,
Thou must serve and Thou have pow­er,
So that He of fruit might ga­ther
Treasure in the vint­age hour.

One by one He sent His ser­vants
Till that hour should ful­ly come;
Some they beat, and some they ston­èd,
Shamefully en­treat­ed some,
They whose hearts were set on id­ols,
Gods they fa­shioned, sense­less, dumb.

Last of all, the vine­yard’s rul­er,
When the num­bered days were run,
Thought up­on His lov­ing-kind­ness,
Sent the sole-be­got­ten One,
Sent His best Be­lov­èd, say­ing,
They will re­ver­ence My Son.

Thus the Fa­ther in His pi­ty,
Healed the world by guilt op­pressed,
Gave com­mand­ment to the low­ly,
Bade her ta­ber­na­cle rest,
He who made her, Is­ra­el’s li­ly,
Slumbered on her spot­less breast.

O, the mys­te­ry of mer­cy !
To the vine­yard comes the Heir,
Leaves the Fa­ther’s ma­ny man­sions,
Faithless hus­band­men to spare,
Clothes Himself with hu­man na­ture,
Deigns our ve­ry flesh to wear.

Heir of all things, we adore Him,
Whom the wick­ed mad­ly slew;
This the Heir, come let us kill Him.
Thus of old that god­less crew
Cast Him out the Fa­ther sent them,
Thus they paid their Lord His due.

Fair the vine­yard which the Age­less
Purchased with His own Right Hand.
Where the hus­band­men of Je­sus
In the place ap­point­ed stand,
Some to sow, and some to ga­ther,
Some to break the fal­low land.

Hedged about by law and pro­phets,
This in­he­ri­tance di­vine;
Deep there­in is dug the wine press,
Whence flows pre­cious blood for wine;
There the tow­er of ivo­ry glit­ters,
Of in­car­nate grace the shrine.

There the four-fold ri­ver wa­ters
With its crys­tal stream the ground;
Purest gold and pre­cious on­yx
In its hid­den depths abound;
There, or good for food or plea­sant,
Every herb and tree are found.

Thus the Lord our God hath plant­ed
Eastward in the realm He made
Garden, un­to which He send­eth,
Born to­day of spot­less maid,
Him whose light the an­cients longed for,
Him for whom the pro­phets prayed.

Where are spring­ing thorns and bri­ers,
He will make the curse to cease;
Are there cap­tives fast in fet­ters?
He will give the bound re­lease,
Unto men of good-will, say­ing,
On the earth be good-will, peace!

Surely now the world will greet Him,
Heir of all the worlds sub­lime;
Times, they say, are bad, dis­joint­ed;
He is come, the Lord of Time;
Men, they say, have grown more ev­il;
He can stay the march of crime.

Do the hours of toil wax long­er?
He will share our wea­ri­ness;
Are there hands up­lift to curse us?
His are lift­ed up to bless;
Are there words of hate about us?
His are words of peace­ful­ness.

O how hap­py the here­aft­er,
When the bet­ter Ed­en gained,
We look back up­on the vine­yard
Where the la­bor was sus­tained,
One hand work­ing, one hand grasp­ing
Weapon while a foe re­mained!

Peace! the will of God the Fa­ther,
As in Heav’n, in earth is done;
Peace! the drea­ry years are end­ed;
Peace! the days of strife are run;
One the song of men and an­gels,
We will re­ver­ence the Son.

Hid be­neath His flesh­ly gar­ment,
Many a crown and dia­dem
Brings the Heir this bless­èd morn­ing,
Journeying from Beth­le­hem;
If He own us, if He bless us,
Who is he that dares con­demn?