The Shepherds of Bethlehem (Hopkins)

At Beth­le­hem

in win­try cold

The faith­ful shep­herds guard their fold:

The crowd­ed town is sunk in sleep

While mid­night vi­gil still they keep.

And rocks and hills are ring­ing

While they

to shield their sheep from harm

And keep them­selves awake and warm

Are chee­ri­ly

loud­ly sing­ing

Hallelujah

hal­le­lu­jah

hal­le­lu­jah

Praise the Lord!

Their flee­cy flocks are ga­thered round

All ly­ing on the fros­ty ground

And new-born lamb­kins may be seen

Close nest­ling

here and there

be­tween.

Their shep­herds thus sur­round­ing

With tune­ful heart and wake­ful ear

Their live­long night they love to hear

The rocks and hills re­sound­ing

When lo! an an­gel

from on high

Came sail­ing down the star­ry sky;

A glo­ry all around him shined

And left a track of light be­hind.

His way thus swift­ly wing­ing

From far he smiles with ra­di­ant joy

That shep­herds thus their voice emp­loy

All night in sweet­ly sing­ing—

Fear not

said he—for at the sight

The sim­ple shep­herds start with fright—

Fear not

for un­to you this morn

In Da­vid’s town a Babe is born:

Tis Christ

your Lord and Sav­ior

Whose reign

when He is crown­èd king

Shall make both men and an­gels sing

For ev­er and for ev­er.

While yet he spake

in robes of flame

A fly­ing cloud of an­gels came;

Upon the mid­night air loud rang

Their gold­en harps

while thus they sang:

To God on high be glo­ry:

And peace on earth

good will to men!

Angels and shep­herds join­ing then

Thus hail the won­drous st­ory

Their lead­er then those hosts ob­ey

Unfold their wings and soar away

Yet loud their gold­en strings they ply

All sing­ing

harp­ing

as they fly;

Chorus to chor­us call­ing.

Till past the stars they dis­ap­pear

That song the list­en­ing shep­herds hear

Still faint and faint­er fall­ing

Then straight they go to Beth­le­hem

Their flocks all fol­low­ing af­ter them;

They find the Babe in man­ger laid

With Jo­seph and the mo­ther-maid;

Before Him low­ly kneel­ing

They tell their tale: the in­fant King

Smiles sweet­ly on them while they sing

With joy that ca­vern thrill­ing

Returning

they the tale re­peat

Through all the long day-dawn­ing street;

From door and win­dow crowds look out

To hear their strange

yet joy­ous shout.

Their sheep still fol­low

bleat­ing;

And all that hear the shep­herds’ song

With burn­ing heart and ting­ling tongue

Send on the an­gel­ic greet­ing—

And ev­ery Christ­mas-tide

that song

More nu­mer­ous sounds

and yet more strong;

From age to age

from pole to pole

It rolls along

and yet shall roll:

Till

crowned with splen­dor glo­ri­ous

That Babe shall come again

a king

And saints and an­gels all shall sing

In end­less

bound­less chor­us—