Glorious, beauteous, golden-bright,
Shedding softest, purest light,
Shone the stars that Christmas night,
When the Jewish shepherds kept
Watch beside their flocks that slept.
But the stars’ sweet golden gleam
Faded quickly as a dream
’Mid the wondrous glory-stream
That illumined all the earth,
When Christ’s angels sang His birth.
Soft and pure and holy glory,
Kings and seers and prophets hoary,
Shed throughout the sacred story:
While the priests, like shepherds true,
Watched beside God’s chosen few.
But that light no more availéd,
And its splendor staighway paléd
In His light Whom angels hailéd;
Even as the stars of old,
’Mid the brightness lost their gold.
Now no more on Christmas night,
Is the sky with angels bright,
But for ever shines the Light;
Even He Whose birth they told
To the shepherds by the fold.
Since that Light then darkens never,
Let us all, with glad endeavor,
Sing the song that echoes ever:
Glory in the highest Heaven!
Peace on earth to us forgiven.