As on the night be­fore this hap­py morn,
A bless­èd an­gel un­to shep­herds told,
Where in a stable He was poor­ly born,
Whom nor the earth
Nor Heav’n of Heav’ns can hold.
Thro’ Beth­l’em rang this news at their re­turn;
Yea, an­gels sang that God with us was born;
And they made mirth be­cause we should not mourn,
And they made mirth be­cause we should not mourn.
Their ang­el ca­rols sing we then;
To God on high all glo­ry be,
For peace on earth be­stow­eth He,
And show­eth favor unto men.

This favor Christ vouch­saf­èd for our sake;
To buy us thrones, He in a man­ger lay;
Our weak­ness took, that we His strength might take,
And was dis­robed, that He might us ar­ray;
Our flesh He wore, our sins to wear away;
Our curse He bore, that we es­cape it may;
And wept for us that we might sing for aye;
And wept for us that we might sing for aye;
With an­gels, there­fore, sing again;
To God on high all glo­ry be,
For peace on earth be­stow­eth He,
And show­eth fa­vor un­to men.