The Chorus of the Angels

The angels sing around the stall
Where Jesus cradled lies,
The shepherds hear the joyful call
That wakes the silent skies.
Hark! to the Music floating by,
Ere yet its echoes cease!
Poured forth from angels’ harmony
Is heard the Song of Peace.

Glory give to God on high!
Glory give to God on high!
Glory give to God on high!

The Eastern Kings the star have seen,
They hasten on their way;
Long time they’ve watched and waiting been
The dawning of that day:–
The dawning of the day of Grace,
The gleam of Jacob’s Star,
The Virgin’s Child of Jesse’s race,
Whom prophet’s saw afar.

And now they offer treasures rare,
Which Indian silks enfold,
Of myrrh, which sweetly scents the air,
Of frankincense and gold.
Their kingly heads they meekly bow
The cradled Babe before,
Their God confess, and, kneeling low,
In humble faith adore.

With them I come to greet my King,
Yet not with them to part;
No gold, no frankincense I bring,
I offer Him my heart,
With Him to live, with Him to die,
Who, by His lowly birth,
Gave glory to our God on high,
And peace to men on earth.

E. F. MacGonigle, The Sodalist’s Hymnal (Philadelphia: E. F. MacGonigle, 1887).

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