In the coun­try nigh to Beth­le­hem
On a star­ry night of old,
There were in the fields abid­ing,
Shepherds with their flocks in fold.
Round the flocks the faith­ful shep­herds
Kept their watch from eve till morn,
Lest their sheep, so weak and help­less,
Should by ev­il beasts be torn.

Haply, through their long night-watch­es,
They made hill and val­ley ring
With the songs of ho­ly glad­ness
Which King Da­vid used to sing.
Songs of praise to God their shep­herd,
Who de­fend­ed them from ill,
And their wea­ry, wan­der­ing foot­steps
Guided to the wa­ters still.

As they watched, a burst of glo­ry
Shone around them from ab­ove,
And a migh­ty glo­ri­ous an­gel
Calmed their fears with words of love:
Fear not, for be­hold, I bring you
Tidings full of great­est joy,
Joy eter­nal, full of glad­ness,
Joy which no­thing can de­stroy.

Unto you in Da­vid’s ci­ty,
As was told by pro­phet’s word,
Christ is born, your God and Sav­ior,
Christ is born, your king and Lord.
Suddenly a host of an­gels
Raised their voic­es high and sang,
Till the vault­ed arch of Hea­ven
With the ec­ho­ing chor­us rang:

Glory, glo­ry, in the high­est,
Unto God, and peace on earth;
To all na­tions joy­ful bring we
Tidings glad of Je­sus’ birth.
Lift we now our hearts and voic­es,
Join we all with cheer­ful cry,
Learned by shep­herds from the an­gels,
Glory be to God on high!