| Hark the herald angels sing
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| «Glory to the newborn King!
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| Peace on earth and mercy mild
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| God and sinners reconciled»
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| Joyful, all ye nations rise
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| Join the triumph of the skies
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| With the angelic host proclaim:
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| «Christ is born in Bethlehem»
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| Hark! |
| The herald angels sing
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| «Glory to the newborn King!»
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| Christ by highest heav’n adored
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| Christ the everlasting Lord!
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| Late in time behold Him come
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| Offspring of a Virgin’s womb
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| Veiled in flesh the Godhead see
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| Hail the incarnate Deity
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| Pleased as man with man to dwell
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| Jesus, our Emmanuel
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| Hark! |
| The herald angels sing
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| «Glory to the newborn King!»
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| Hail the heav’n-born Prince of Peace!
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| Hail the Son of Righteousness!
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| Light and life to all He brings
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| Ris’n with healing in His wings
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| Mild He lays His glory by
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| Born that man no more may die
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| Born to raise the sons of earth
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| Born to give them second birth
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| Hark! |
| The herald angels sing
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| «Glory to the newborn King!»
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| It came upon the midnight clear,
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| That glorious song of old,
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| From angels bending near the earth,
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| To touch their harps of gold:
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| «Peace on the earth, goodwill to men
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| From heavens all gracious King!»
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| The world in solemn stillness lay
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| To hear the angels sing.
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| Still through the cloven skies they come,
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| With peaceful wings unfurled;
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| And still their heavenly music floats
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| O’er all the weary world:
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| Above its sad and lowly plains
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| They bend on hovering wing,
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| And ever o’er its Babel sounds
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| The blessed angels sing.
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| O ye beneath life’s crushing load,
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| Whose forms are bending low,
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| Who toil along the climbing way
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| With painful steps and slow;
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| Look now, for glad and golden hours
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| Come swiftly on the wing;
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| Oh rest beside the weary road
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| And hear the angels sing.
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| For lo! |
| the days are hastening on,
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| By prophets seen of old,
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| When with the ever-circling years
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| Shall come the time foretold,
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| When the new heaven and earth shall own
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| The Prince of Peace, their King,
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| And the whole world send back the song
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| Which now the angels sing. |