I love to hear sweet voic­es sing,
That Day of all the best,
When ear­li­est in the morn they bring
The news of Christ­mas blest,
And far away old ech­oes ring,
As bid­ding me to rest!

For then with wak­ing thoughts in­tent
My soul looks up on high,
And ming­les mus­ing with re­lent
And fain ’twould see Christ nigh;
Hear for it­self, ere time be spent,
Peace from the az­ure sky.

But thou no long­er in our race
By flesh the vir­gin-born
Is known to us, yet Je­sus’ grace
Leaves not His for­lorn;
Since now good Chris­tians see His face
By faith, on Christ­mas morn!

Then come, ye faith­ful, great and small,
Come hast­en to the sight,
Where Je­sus at our fes­tiv­al
Comes down, the shin­ing Light,
To fill all hearts, who hear His call,
With glo­ry beam­ing bright!