Verse 1 O hearken now, ye weary hearts, and mark this holy thing: That He who flung the stars abroad laid down His crownèd ring. Omniscient, ever-seeing—Omnipresent, near— Omnipotent, whom seraphs praise with unceasing cheer; Yet from the throne of sapphire light, where worship hath no end, He veiled His glory, stooped full low, and came as child and friend. Verse 2 Not robed in gold, nor borne aloft by trumpets and by flame, But cradled in a borrowed stall—how humble was His name. A carpenter’s son, in poverty acquainted, meek and mild; No palace held His infancy, no diadem the Child. And when the Law did bid the lamb, and purse could not provide, Two turtle doves were lifted up—love’s offering, sanctified. Chorus Glory to God in the highest—peace upon earth below; Good will to men, for Heaven hath bent, and love hath learned to go. O wonder past all telling—O mercy without price— That Majesty should take our dust, and stoop to sacrifice. So sing, ye bells; so lift, ye choirs; let every hearth be bright: For Love hath come in lowly swaddling—God in mortal night. Verse 3 And grown, He walked no settled road, no door could call Him “mine”; The fox hath hole, the bird hath nest—He bore a homeless sign. He drank the common cup of grief, He shared the common bread; He healed the sick, He raised the bowed, He wept where others fled. A modest life, a gentle yoke, yet fire within His word— The Maker moved among His own, and oft was scarce observed. Verse 4 At last He laid His life straight down—no man did take it so— Upon the tree, ’twixt earth and heaven, in anguish, shame, and woe. O Love unsearchable! O Gift that doth not count the cost! The Shepherd died to seek His sheep; the Finder bore the lost. The hands that shaped the cedars grew nailed fast for thee and me— And by His stripes, our brokenness is healed eternally. Chorus Glory to God in the highest—peace upon earth below; Good will to men, for Heaven hath bent, and love hath learned to go. O wonder past all telling—O mercy without price— That Majesty should take our dust, and stoop to sacrifice. So sing, ye bells; so lift, ye choirs; let every hearth be bright: For Love hath come in lowly swaddling—God in mortal night. Bridge No marvel, then, the angels’ host did rend the midnight air; No marvel, then, two thousand years are burdened still with prayer. No marvel, then, that songs abound beyond all other theme— For Bethlehem hath seeded earth with everlasting dream. Our stories fill the stage and screen; our carols flood the skies; The radios and streams proclaim what every heart surmises: Final Verse That Christmas is a season fair of love and joy and peace— A tide where grudges soften, and the hardened hands release. The world may trade in tinsel bright, yet this doth outshine all: The Lord of Hosts became the Least, and answered Adam’s call. Therefore, let every candle burn, and every doorway clear— For truly, aye—most truly—’tis the most wonderful tide o’ the year. Tag (softly, like a benediction) Glory to God in the highest… and on earth, peace.
