The Babe of Bethlehem by Amos E. Flint

Pacific Press Publishing Association · Mountain View, California · Jan 24, 1911

The Babe of Bethlehem

By Amos E. Flint

UPON a midnight long ago, While faithful shepherds watched their flocks, Seraphic fires set skies aglow And lit Judea's hills and rocks.

Down through the wide expanse of sky The herald angels' echo rolled; The song, the tidings from on high, Were more than heav'n alone could hold.

The joyful chorus we repeat, "Glory to God, our God most high, Salvation, peace, and joy complete Through David's Son who came to die."

"Good-will to men, on earth be peace!" How sweeps the song in lofty strains O'er Judah's hills, on slumb'ring breeze, And bursts upon her stilly plains!

In Bethlehem to-day is born A Son of David's royal line; Lowly His birth, humble, forlorn, He swathed lies where feed the kine.

Celestial hosts their homage bring, And marvel at the wond'rous sight,— A virgin's arms contain a King Who once held sway in courts of light.

With healing in His wings He came, To seek a lost, rebellious race, To bring salvation in His name, And joyful news of saving grace.

That we may rise to heav'n from earth He humbly came in sin's midnight; And born to give us second birth, He turned our darkness into light.

He bids the trembling souls be still, And to their sorrows say farewell; He offers peace, to all good-will, And mansions bright where He will dwell.

All this His love for us hath done; For this we tune our grateful song; And when at last the viet'ry's won, Our tongues shall endless praise prolong.

Granger, Washington.