In the lonely midnight

in the lonely midnight on the wintry hill,
shepherds heard the angels singing, “peace, good will.”
listen, o ye weary, to the angels’ song,
unto to you the tidings of great joy belong.

though in david’s city angels sing no more,
love makes angel music on earth’s darkest shore;
though no heavenly glory meet your wondering eyes,
love can make your dwelling bright as paradise.

though the child of mary, sent from heaven on high,
in his manger cradle may no longer lie,
love is king forever, though the proud world scorn;
if ye truly seek him, christ your king is born.