God from on high hath heard;
Let sighs and sorrows cease;
Lo! from the opening Heav’n descends
To man the promised Peace.

Hark! through the silent night
Angelic voices swell;
Their joyful songs proclaim that “God
Is born on earth to dwell.”

See how the shepherd band
Speed on with eager feet;
Come to the hallowed cave with them
The Holy Babe to greet.

But, oh, what sight appears
Within that lowly door!
A manger, stall, and swaddling clothes,
A Child and mother poor!

Art Thou the Christ? the Son?
The Father’s image bright?
And see we Him Whose arm upholds
Earth and the starry height?

Yea, faith can pierce the cloud
Which veils Thy glory now;
We hail Thee, God, before Whose throne
The angels prostrate bow.

A silent Teacher, Lord,
Thou bidd’st us not refuse
To bear what flesh would have us shun,
To shun what flesh would choose.

Our sinful pride to cure
With that pure love of Thine,
O be Thou born within our hearts,
Most Holy Child divine.

My God, is any hour so sweet
From blush of morn to evening star,
As that which calls me to Thy feet—
The hour of prayer?

Blest is that tranquil hour of morn,
And blest that hour of solemn eve,
When, on the wings of prayer upborne,
The world I leave.

Then is my strength by Thee renewed;
Then are my sins by Thee forgiv’n;
Then dost Thou cheer my solitude
With hopes of Heav’n.

No words can tell what sweet relief
There for my every want I find,
What strength for warfare, balm for grief,
What peace of mind.

Hushed is each doubt, gone every fear;
My spirit seems in Heav’n to stay;
And e’en the penitential tear
Is wiped away.

Lord, till I reach yon blissful shore,
No privilege so dear shall be
As thus my inmost soul to pour
In prayer to Thee.