The gentle sheep are lying in the meadow
On rolling hills of tender, dewy grass,
While wakeful shepherds watch them from the shadow
Of olive trees. The rustling breezes pass
And die away, chill messengers of dawn,
While in the east a radiant star shines on.
The silence deepens; then upon the night
A bright effulgence seems to swiftly grow:
The startled shepherds, fearing this strange light,
Fall to the ground and bow their foreheads low;
When like the throbbing of a muted string,
An angel voice begins to softly sing:
Fear not, for wondrous news I bring to earth.
This night is born the holy one of God,
The Saviour and the Lord, and of his birth
This is the herald sign. Beneath his rod
His sheep and lambs must pass, until the day
When even heaven and earth shall pass away.
Then suddenly a joyous lilt of song
Is filling all the world with perfect praise;
The sweet angelic hymn is borne along
The secret paths of earth's dark hidden maze,
Bringing a blessing that shall never cease,
Leaving the shepherds wrapped in holy peace.
