William Billings
Of angels on the wing;
Me thinks I hear their cheerful notes,
So merrily they sing,
So merrily they sing.
Let all your fears be banished
Hence glad tidings I proclaim;
For there is a Saviour born today,
And Jesus is his name,
And Jesus is his name.
Lay down your crooks
And quit your flocks,
To Bethlehem repair;
And let your wandering steps be squared
By yonder shining star,
By yonder shining star.
Then learn from hence,
Ye rural swains,
The meekness of your God,
Who left the boundless realms of joy,
To ransom you with blood,
To ransom you with blood.
The master of the Inn refused
A more commodious place;
Ungen’rous soul of savage mould
And destitute of grace,
And destitute of grace.
Exult ye oxen, low for joy,
Ye tenants of the stall;
Pay your obeisance; on your knees,
Unanimously fall,
Unanimously fall.
The royal guest you entertain
Is not of common birth.
But second in the Great I Am,
The God of Heav’n and Earth,
The God of Heav’n and Earth.
Then suddenly a Heav’nly Host
Around the shepherds throng,
Exulting in the Threefold God
And thus addressed their song,
And thus addressed their song.
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