Like sil­ver lamps in a dist­ant shrine,
The stars are spark­ling bright;
The bells of the ci­ty of God ring out,
For the Son of Ma­ry is born to­night.
The gloom is past, and the morn at last
Is coming with ori­ent light.

No earth­ly songs are half so sweet
As those which are filling the skies,
And ne­ver a pa­lace shone half so fair
As the man­ger-bed where our Sav­ior lies;
No night in the year is half so dear
As this which has end­ed our sighs.

Now a new pow­er has come on the earth,
A match for the ar­mies of hell:
A Child is born who shall con­quer the foe,
And all the spi­rits of wick­ed­ness quell;
For Ma­ry’s Son is the Migh­ty One
Whom the prop­hets of God fore­tell.

The stars of hea­ven still shine as at first
They gleamed on this won­der­ful night,
The bells of the ci­ty of God peal out,
And the an­gels’ song still rings in the height,
And loves still turns where the God­head burns,
Veiled in flesh from flesh­ly sight.

Faith sees no long­er the sta­ble floor,
The pave­ment of sap­phire is there,
The clear light of Hea­ven streams out to the world,
And the an­gels of God are crowd­ing the air,
And Hea­ven and earth, through the spot­less birth,
Are at peace on this night so fair.