A shep­herd band their flocks are keep­ing,
And gen­tle lambs are sweet­ly sleep­ing;
When sud­den­ly they all be­hold
An ang­el in bright robes, with harp of gold.

Glad tid­ings of great joy he bring­eth,
The az­ure vault with ant­hems ring­eth;
Immanuel awakes the song,
And count­less hosts the glo­ri­ous theme pro­long.

To you, this day, is born a Sav­ior,
Your pro­phet, priest and king for­ev­er;
All glo­ry be to God, they cry;
All glo­ry be to God, let earth re­ply.

On earth be peace with mer­cy blend­ing,
Goodwill to men, and love un­end­ing;
Thus sweet­ly sing the ang­el throng,
And all the heav’n­ly host re­hearse the song.

Through field and wood the song re­sound­eth,
O’er hill and vale the chor­us bound­eth;
Exultingly the ech­oes roll,
And hymns of tri­umph spread from pole to pole.

The shep­herds view the host re­turn­ing,
Their hearts with ho­ly ar­dor burn­ing;
To Beth­le­hem they wend their way,
Repeating with glad tongues th’an­gel­ic lay.

In haste they seek the heav’n­ly Stran­ger;
They find the Babe laid in a man­ger;
With won­der and with awe they fall,
And joy­ful­ly adore Him, Lord of all.

Now ev­ery voice with rap­ture swell­eth,
For Christ the Lord with mor­tals dwell­eth;
Let men and ang­els Him ad­ore,
And shout their loud ho­san­nas ev­er­more.