Music I love--but never
strain
Could kindle raptures so
divine,
So grief assuage, so conquer
pain,
And rouse this pensive heart
of mine--
As that we hear on Christmas
morn,
Upon the wintry breezes
borne.
Though Darkness still her
empire keep,
And hours must pass, ere
morning break;
From troubled dreams, or
slumbers deep,
That music KINDLY bids us
wake:
It calls us, with an angel's
voice,
To wake, and worship, and
rejoice;
To greet with joy the glorious
morn,
Which angels welcomed long
ago,
When our redeeming Lord
was born,
To bring the light of Heaven
below;
The Powers of Darkness to
dispel,
And rescue Earth from Death
and Hell.
While listening to that sacred
strain,
My raptured spirit soars
on high;
I seem to hear those songs
again
Resounding through the open
sky,
That kindled such divine
delight,
In those who watched their
flocks by night.
With them I celebrate His
birth--
Glory to God, in highest
Heaven,
Good-will to men, and peace
on earth,
To us a Saviour-king is
given;
Our God is come to claim
His own,
And Satan's power is overthrown!
A sinless God, for sinful
men,
Descends to suffer and to
bleed;
Hell MUST renounce its empire
then;
The price is paid, the world
is freed,
And Satan's self must now
confess
That Christ has earned a
RIGHT to bless:
Now holy Peace may smile
from heaven,
And heavenly Truth from
earth shall spring:
The captive's galling bonds
are riven,
For our Redeemer is our
king;
And He that gave his blood
for men
Will lead us home to God
again.
