The angels sing around the stall
Where Jesus cradled lies;
The shepherds hear the joyful call
That wakes the silent skies.
Hark! to the music floating by,
Ere yet its echoes cease!
Poured forth from angels’ minstrelsy,
Is heard the song of peace.
The eastern kings the star have seen,
They hasten on their way;
Long time they’ve watched and waiting been
The dawning of that day;
The dawning of the day of grace,
The gleam of Jacob’s star,
The virgin’s child of Jesse’s race,
Whom prophets saw afar.
And now they open treasures rare,
Which Indian silks enfold;
Of myrrh, which sweetly scents the air,
Of frankincense and gold.
Their kingly heads they meekly bow
The cradled Babe before;
Their God confess, and kneeling low
In humble faith adore.
With them I come to greet my king,
Yet not with them to part;
No gold, no frankincense, I bring,
I offer Him my heart.
With Him to live, with Him to die,
Who by His lowly birth,
Gave glory to our God on high,
And peace to men on earth.