Angel of peace, thou hast wandered too long;
Spread thy white wings to the sunshine of love!
Come while our voices are blended in song,
Fly to our ark like the storm-beaten dove—
Fly to our ark on the wings of the dove;
Speed o’er the far-sounding billows of song,
Crowned with the olive leaf garland of love;
Angel of peace, thou hast waited too long!
Brothers we meet on this altar of thine,
Mingling the gifts we have gathered for thee;
Sweet with the odors of myrtle and pine,
Breeze of the prairie and breath of the sea—
Meadow and mountain and forest and sea;
Sweet is the fragrance of myrtle and pine,
Sweeter the incense we offer to thee,
Brothers once more round this altar of thine!
Angels of Bethlehem, answer the strain!
Hark! a new birth-song is filling the sky!
Loud as the storm wind that tumbles the main,
Bid the full breath of the organ reply—
Loud let the tempest of voices reply;
Roll its long surge like the earth-shaking main!
Swell the vast song till it mounts to the sky!
Angels of Bethlehem, echo the strain!