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 giv'n;
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessing 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 undefiled;
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!
Written by Phillips Brooks (1835–1893), an Episcopal priest, then rector of Church of the Holy Trinity, Philadelphia, and later of Trinity Church, Boston. He was inspired by visiting the village of Bethlehem in 1865.