It Came Upon the Midnight Clear

And ye, beneath life's crushing load,
Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow,
Look now! For glad and golden hours
Come swiftly on the wing
O rest beside the weary road
And hear the angels sing.

For, lo, the days are hastening on,
By prophet seen of old,
When wit the ever circling years
Shall come the time foretold
When the new heav'n and earth shall own
The Prince of Peace, their King
And all the world give back the song
Which now the angels sing.