Scripture Verse

Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men. Luke 2:14


Words: Na­than­iel H. Car­ter (1787–1830), alt. Pub­lished in The La­dies’ Ma­ga­zine, by Sar­ah J. Hale, Vol­ume 1 (Bos­ton, Mas­sa­chu­setts: Put­nam & Hunt, 1828), page 567: The name of N. H. Car­ter is well known and re­spect­ed in the world of let­ters. The fol­low­ing hymn is from his pen, writ­ten ma­ny years since to a friend in this ci­ty; it is be­lieved it has ne­ver been pub­lished. The ap­proach­ing sea­son must re­nder the sen­ti­ments it con­tains, ap­pro­pri­ate to the feel­ings of all Chris­tians, and we think our read­ers will be high­ly gra­ti­fied, as we have been, with the pe­ru­sal.

Music: Chor­ley­wood Live­sey L. K. Car­rott (1864–1900) (🔊 pdf nwc).

Alternate Tune:

If you know where to get a good pic­ture of Car­ter or Car­rott (head & shoul­ders, at least 200×300 pix­els),


In hymns of praise, eter­nal God!
When Thy cre­at­ing hand
Stretched out the arch of Heav’n abroad,
And met­ed sea and land,
The morn­ing stars to­ge­ther sung,
And shouts of joy from an­gels sung.

The Earth’s prime hour, more joy­ous far
Was that ev­ent­ful morn,
When bril­liant beam from Beth­le­hem’s star
Announced a Sav­ior born!
Then sweet­er strains from Hea­ven be­gan—
Glory to God—good will to man.

Babe of the man­ger! Can it be?
Art Thou the Son of God?
Shall sub­ject na­tions bow the knee,
And kings ob­ey Thy nod?
Shall thrones and mon­archs pros­trate fall
Before the ten­ant of a stall?

’Tis He! the hymn­ing se­raphs cry,
While hov’ring, drawn to earth;
’Tis He! the shep­herds’ songs reply,
Hail! hail Em­ma­nu­el’s birth!
The rod of peace those hands shall bear,
That brow a crown of glo­ry wear!

’Tis He! the east­ern sag­es sing,
And spread their gold­en hoard;
’Tis He! the hills of Si­on ring,
Hosanna to the Lord!
The Prince of long pro­phet­ic years
Today in Beth­le­hem ap­pears!

He comes! The Con­quer­or’s march be­gins,
No blood His ban­ner stains;
He comes to save the world from sins,
And break the cap­tive’s chains!
The poor, the sick, and blind shall bless
The Prince of Peace and Right­eous­ness.

Though now in swad­dling-clothes He lies,
All hearts His pow­er shall own,
When He, with le­gions of the skies,
The clouds of Heav’n His throne,
Shall come to judge the quick and dead,
And strike a trem­bling world with dread.