Stars of glo­ry, shine more bright­ly,
Purer be the moon­light’s beam;
Glide ye hours and mo­ments light­ly,
Swiftly down time’s deep­en­ing stream.
Bring the hour that ban­ished sad­ness,
Brought re­demp­tion down to earth,
When the shep­herds heard with glad­ness
Tidings of a Sav­ior’s birth.

See a beau­te­ous an­gel soar­ing
In the bright ce­les­ti­al blaze;
On the shep­herds low ador­ing
Rest his mild, ef­ful­gent rays.
Fear not—cries the hea­ven­ly stran­ger—
Him whom an­cient seers fore­told,
Weeping in a lone­ly man­ger,
Shepherds, haste ye to be­hold.

See the shep­herds quick­ly ris­ing,
Hastening to the hum­ble stall,
And the new­born In­fant priz­ing,
As the migh­ty Lord of all;
Lowly now they bend be­fore Him
In His help­less in­fant state;
Firmly, faith­ful they ad­ore Him
And His great­ness ce­le­brate,

Hark the swell of heav’n­ly voic­es
Peal along the vault­ed sky;
Angels sing, while earth re­joic­es—
Glory to our God on high;
Glory in the high­est hea­ven,
Peace to hum­ble men on earth;
Joy to these and bliss is giv­en,
In the great Re­deem­er’s birth.