Beaming Bright

The sun’s asleep ’neath west­ern hills

And dark­ened fin­gers of the night

Are cast up­on the plains and rills

And hide all na­ture from the light.

Beaming bright

comes the light

Of the hap­py Christ­mas morn

Angels’ strains o’er the plains

Tell that Christ is born.

Beaming bright

comes the light

Of hap­py Christ­mas morn

And an­gels’ strains o’er east­ern plains

They tell that Christ is born.

O sweet­est car­ol ev­er sung

We’d love to hear the an­gels sing;

O Child who art from Heav­en come

Our of­fer­ings now to Thee we bring.

O Thou who dwell’st up­on the throne

In lof­ty state

by ang­els blest;

Look down up­on us as we roam

Within a world by sin op­pressed.