Two Thousand Troubled Years

Two thou­sand trou­bled years

Time’s wea­ry brow have worn

Since that strange star to shep­herds told

The Prince of Peace was born.

Two thou­sand years of gloom

Of grop­ing to­ward the light

Of pro­phets scorned and mar­tyrs slain

And bat­tle done for right.

But year by year the bells

The old glad tid­ings bring

And men for­get their strife

to keep

The birth­day of the King.

Christ’s king­dom yet will come

And good pre­vail o’er ill

Though oft­en with a crown of thorns

We mock the Mas­ter still.

But He will not for­sake

The world for which He died

Till all man­kind be ga­thered home

At the great Christ­mas­tide.