Hark, the herald angels sing the birth of Christ the king;
Bring gifts of adoration in realization Someone has come,
And the world lies silently, blindly begging kindly gift
From afar, beyond the stars, to break the bars of prison
And sickening poison: Who will feed us, clothe us? Who
Will need us, and give us better creed by which to live?
Is this the newborn babe, torn from heaven’s womb, born
To live, to die, to try sceptre of the world to capture
For my sake? To make better the earth with his own birth,
To shatter slumber and wake the heart of humanity long
Caught in slumber deadly, in medley of satanic cruelty
And its own desire burning like fire, making its pyre?
Across the field I yield to sweet, small voices in chorus
Choices of carols of the season for reason to be at peace
But not for wars to cease; hope born each year at the end
Of heaven’s pier, and so dear to think the One who bled
Fed the thousands, yet millions starve while the chorus
Continues this silent night, deadly night in world ne’er
Saved from plight; only afforded trite promises, quite right
In words but wrong in song sung so far from heavenly sight.
Hark, the herald angels sing the birth of Christ the king;
Bring gifts of adoration in realization Someone has come
In incarnation ~ let the drums beat ~ tis Twelvetide again!
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