Bethlehem hills that solemn night
Softly beheld a golden sight,
Thrilled to a burst of holy sound:
"Glory to God to the farthest height,
Peace on earth
To men of worth,
Men in whom God's grace is found!"
Ever has that angelic lay
Widened over the earth away;
Still the quivering echoes run
From listening night to listening day—
"Peace, peace, peace,"
They never cease,
Broadening out from sun to sun.
Now, through the miracle of time,
In every land, in every clime,
Whispering low in the pulsing air
Sounds that Bethlehem chant sublime,
Singing still
Of man's good will
And the heavenly Father's peaceful care.
How can we reach and catch the song?
How, in our Babel of wrath and wrong,
Can we capture the holy strain again
That has wandered far, so far and long,
On land and sea
So far and free:
"Peace on earth and good will to men"?
Hushed in the dawning of love's great light,
Brothers all in the angels' sight,
Some glad day we shall catch the sound;
"Glory to God in the farthest height,
Peace on earth
To men of worth,
Men in whom God's grace is found!"
