1 The migh­ty Sav­ior comes from Heav’n,
He comes to save a world for­giv’n:
Hark! an­gels sing, and heav­en­ly light
Shines round the shep­herds in the night.

2 As glides His wing­èd her­ald near,
The trem­bling shep­herds shrink with fear;
"Fear not," he cries, while love and grace
Beam from his Heav­en-il­lum­in­ed face.

3 Glad tid­ings of great joy he tells,
That He in whom all full­ness dwells,
The Son of God, from Heav­en come down,
Is born this day in Da­vid’s town.

4 He speaks, and lo! a heav­en­ly throng
Gives praise to God in ho­ly song;
And, as they touch their gold­en lyres,
This glor­ious theme their hymn in­spires.

5 The shep­herds joined, with won­der­ing gaze
And fal­tering voice, the song of praise;
And straight to Beth­l’hem sped away,
To where their in­fant Sav­ior lay.

6 So now let us, with heart and voice,
In God, our hope and strength, re­joice;
For ev­er­more with praise ad­ore
The Son, who all our sor­rows bore.

7 His just com­mands let us ful­fill,
And, true to death, ob­ey Him still;
Then God, to do whose will He died,
Shall see it, and be sa­tis­fied.

8 And gra­cious­ly, when life is past,
Will call us home to Heav’n at last;
Meanwhile our voic­es here we raise,
To join His an­gels’ song of praise.