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 (g C^vifftmae Cpitne 
 
 'And all the bells on earth shall ring \»-vj/ ^^>>^ ^'Njx 
 On Christmas day in the morning." ,, — r Y 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 Anson D. F. Randolph & Company 
 
 38 West Twenty-third Street 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1886, BY ANSON 0. F. RANDOLPH 4 COMPANY 
 
 
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3T came upon the midnight clear, 
 That glorious song of old, 
 From Angels bending near the earth 
 To touch their harps of gold : 
 
 Peace on the earth ; good-will to men, 
 From heaven's all-gracious King." 
 
 The world in solemn stillness lay 
 To hear the Angels sing. 
 
yj^LORY to God ! the lofty strains 
 
 The realm of ether fills; 
 How sweeps the song of solemn joy 
 O'er Judah's sacred hills! 
 
 " Glory to God ! " the sounding skies 
 Loud with their Anthems ring: 
 
 " Peace on the earth ; good -will to men, 
 From heaven's Eternal King." 
 3 
 
^HOSE voices from on high are mute; 
 The star the wise men saw is dim ; 
 But hope still guides the wanderer's foot, 
 And Faith renews the Angel-hymn : 
 
 Glory to God in loftiest heaven, — 
 
 Touch with glad hand the ancient chord- 
 Good tidings unto man forgiven ; 
 
 Peace from the presence of the Lord. 
 4 
 
A"NIJT in the midnight's white and starry splendor 
 
 Once more the glad bells ring; 
 While softer human voices, sweet and tender, 
 With songs of Christmas sing. 
 
 The whole clear night seems bending low to listen, 
 
 The Church lifts up its cross ; 
 And solitary, snow-capped mountains glisten, 
 
 And blue seas flash and toss. 
 
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Pj^ND clear to-day, as long ago, 
 ^ The Angel-chorus echoes still 
 Above the clamor and the throe 
 Of human passion, human woe — 
 
 Good-will and peace. Peace and good-will. 
 
 Through eighteen hundred stormy years 
 
 The dear notes ring and will not cease ; 
 And past all mists of mortal tears 
 The guiding star rebukes our fears — 
 
 Peace and good-will. Good-will and peace. 
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na HYMN of Hope to the Ages, 
 ^ The music of deathless Trust, 
 No frenzy of mortal rages 
 
 Can darken with doubt or dust — 
 
 A rapture of high evangels, 
 But centered in sacred calms ! 
 
 Ah ! still the chorus of Angels 
 Thrills over the Bethlehem Palms. 
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ATILL heralds the day-spring tender, 
 ^ That never can melt or close, 
 Till the noon of its deepening splendor 
 Out-blooms like a mystic rose, 
 
 Whose petals are rays supernal 
 Of Love that has all sufficed — 
 
 And whose heart is the grace eternal 
 Of the fathomless peace of Christ. 
 
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LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS 
 
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