The Angels' Song

RUN, shepherds, run where Bethlem blest appears,

We bring the best of news, be not dismayed,

A Saviour there is born, more old than years,

Amidst Heaven’s rolling heights this earth who stayed;

In a poor cottage inned, a virgin maid,—

There is he poorly swaddled, in manger laid,—

A weakling did him bear, who all upbears,

To whom too narrow swaddlings are our spheres:

Run, shepherds, run, and solemnize his birth,

This is that night, no,—day grown great with bliss,

In which the power of Satan broken is;

In Heaven be glory, peace unto the earth.

Thus singing through the air the angels swam,

And cope of stars re-echoéd the same.