Shepherds, watch­ing on the plain,
Heard a strange, sweet sto­ry,
And a glad, an­gel­ic strain
From the choir of glo­ry.

Glory was their theme that morn,
Peace on earth, from Hea­ven;
For to you a king is born,
And a Sav­ior giv­en.

Wise men jour­neyed far to bring—
His bright star es­py­ing—
Presents to the in­fant King,
In a man­ger ly­ing.

We, O Sav­ior! too, would bring
Gifts of love un­feig­ning,
To our pro­phet, priest and king,
Now in glo­ry reign­ing.

Lord, ac­cept our hum­ble praise
From Thy throne low bend­ing;
Hear with gra­cious ear the lays
From our lips as­cend­ing.

Tune our hearts with sweet ac­cord
As we raise our voic­es,
Thus to praise the ris­en Lord,
In whom earth re­joices.

In His name and through His love,
Come we, glad­ly sing­ing
Songs of praise, to float above—
Sweetly up­ward wing­ing.

May we sing these songs of joy
Till earth ties shall se­ver!
Then Thy praise our tongues e­mploy
In the blest for­ev­er.