Cold Was the Night

Cold was the night in win­ter wild

When in her arms the maid­en mild

Enfolds her first

the Heav­en born Child;

And whilst the mo­ther ov­er Him hung

This car­ol from the an­gels’ tongue

In strange mys­te­ri­ous tones is sung:

Gloria in ex­cel­sis Deo;

Et in ter­ra pax ho­mi­ni­bus;

Bonæ bonæ vo­lun­ta­tis.

The stars sit still in deep amaze

In so­lemn si­lence stead­fast gaze

While list­en­ing to th’an­gel­ic lays;

Then waft­ed high

in joy­ous time

The songs in loud har­mo­ni­ous chime

To Heav­en’s bright em­py­re­an climb.

And doth this stall

in shad­ed gloom

Contain the fruit of Ma­ry’s womb

For whom the world could not make room?

O grace

all praise of men above

O Son

be­yond all depth of love

How do these our all pass­ions move!

On thro’ the bright­est day of days

We

with its choir

our voic­es raise

Sing ju­bi­lee in thank­ful praise;

To God on high be glo­ry meet

To earth­born Son—to Pa­ra­clete—

In this good­will

in mu­sic sweet.