A mighty world is hushed to-night
In sweet expectancy;
O’er snowy field and wood the stainless light
Of the clear moon
Shines broad and free;
While peacefully the earth—
A great white throne
Prepared for One who soon
Shall rise and claim it for His own—
Awaits His birth.
The hearts of all mankind are turned
Toward lowly Bethlehem;
For in the east the wondrous Star, that burned
In days of old,
Still beckons them.
Back o’er the centuries,
Storm-swept and bare,
It moves, until, behold!
It stands above the manger where
The Young Child lies.
O Christmas chimes, right joyfully
Ring out the tidings glad
To stars and frosty air and listening sky,—
“Good-will to men!”
Till all the sad,
The weary and oppressed,
Their gifts shall bring
To Him whose birth again
Sheds peace on earth, and, worshipping,
Shall be at rest.