It came upon the midnight clear (Richard S. Willis)

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In original English

CPDL #18466:

Editor: Rod Mather (submitted 2008-12-29). Copyright: Public Domain

Edition notes:

CPDL #13067:

Editor: Andrew Hawryluk (submitted 2006-11-12). Score information: Letter, 5 pages, 255 kbytes Copyright: Personal

Edition notes: arr. Andrew Hawryluk with Piano accompaniment.

CPDL #7054: PDF and MIDI files available.

Editor: Edward L. Stauff (submitted 2004-05-20). Score information: Letter, 1 page Copyright: Personal

Edition notes: a cappella

CPDL #1714:

Editor: Christopher R. Baker (submitted 2000-11-27). Copyright: CC BY 1.0

Edition notes: a cappella

In Latvian translation

CPDL #18762:   Sibelius 3 Sibelius 5

Editor: Andris Solims (submitted 2009-01-13). Score information: A4, 1 page, 152 kB Copyright: Religious

Edition notes: This is edition of Pār mazo ciemu ielejā

General Information

Title: It came upon the midnight clear
Composer: Richard S. Willis
Tune: Carol
Lyricist: Edmund H. Sears^{create page}

Number of voices: 4vv Voicings: SATB, SSAA
Genre: Sacred, Carol

Language: English
Instruments: a cappella or Keyboard
Published: 1850

Description:

External websites:

Cyber Hymnal™ article

Original text and translations

English text

It came upon the midnight clear,

That glorious song of old,

From angels bending near the earth,

To touch their harps of gold;

“Peace on the earth, good will to men,

From Heaven’s all gracious King.”

The world in solemn stillness lay,

To hear the angels sing.

Still through the cloven skies they come

With peaceful wings unfurled,

And still their heavenly music floats

O’er all the weary world;

Above its sad and lowly plains,

They bend on hovering wing,

And ever over its Babel sounds

The blessèd angels sing.

Yet with the woes of sin and strife

The world has suffered long;

Beneath the angel strain have rolled

Two thousand years of wrong;

And man, at war with man, hears not

The love-song which they bring;

O hush the noise, ye men of strife

And hear the angels sing.

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-bards foretold,

When with the ever circling years

Comes round the age of gold;

When peace shall over all the earth

Its ancient splendors fling,

And the whole world send back the song

Which now the angels sing.