What are these ethe­re­al strains
Floating o’er Ju­dea’s plains?
Burning spir­its through the sky,
With their lof­ty min­strel­sy!
Hark! they break the mid­night trance
With the joy­ous ut­ter­ance,
Glory to God, and peace to men,
Christ is born in Beth­le­hem!

Quench, ye types, your fee­ble ray,
Shadows, ye may melt away!
Prophecy, your work is done;
Gospel ag­es have be­gun!
Temple! quench your al­tar fires,
For these ra­diant an­gel choirs
To a ru­ined world pro­claim—
Christ is born in Beth­le­hem!

Pillowed is His in­fant head
On a bor­rowed man­ger bed!
He around whose throne ab­ove
Angels hymned their songs of love,
Now is wrapped by vir­gin hands
In earth’s mean­est swad­dling bands;
Once ad­ored by se­ra­phim,
Now a babe of Beth­le­hem!

Eastern sages from afar,
Guided by a mys­tic star,
Followed, till its lus­ter mild
Brought them to the heav’n­ly Child.
May each pro­vi­dence to me
Like a guid­ing me­te­or be,
Bringing near­er un­to Him,
Once the Babe of Beth­le­hem!