(Phillips Brooks (1835-1893), 1868)


O little town of Bethlehem,

How still we see thee lie.

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep

The silent stars go by;

Yet in thy dark streets shineth

The everlasting Light;

The hopes and fears of all the years

Are met in thee tonight.


For Christ is born of Mary,

And, gathered all above

While mortals sleep, the angels keep

Their watch of wondering love.

O morning stars, together

Proclaim the holy birth.

And praises sing to God the King.

And peace to men on earth.


How silently, how silently

The wondrous gift is given!

So God imparts to human hearts

The blessings of His heaven.

No ear may hear His coming;

But in this world of sin,

Where meek souls will receive Him,

Still The dear Christ enters in.


Where children, pure and happy,

Pray to the Blessed Child;

Where misery cries out to thee,

Son of the Mother mild;

Where charity stands watching,

And faith holds wide the door,

The dark night wakes, the glory breaks,

And Christmas comes once more.


O Holy Child of Bethlehem,

Descend to us, we pray;

Cast out our sin and enter in;

Be born in us today!

We hear the Christmas angels

The great glad tidings tell;

O come to us, abide with us,

Our Lord Emmanuel!