How silent waits the listening earth beneath a cloud-dark sky, no star to mark the midnight birth, the new-born baby's cry; till angel voices lift their songs and glory shines abroad, for him to whom all praise belongs, a Saviour, Christ the Lord. On trembling feet, from flock and fold, the shepherds hasten down; the child of whom the angel told is born in David's town. They gaze in wide-eyed wonder there on Mary's child asleep, the Lamb of God, our sins to bear, the Shepherd of his sheep. By mountain ways and deserts wide, from kingly courts afar, the wise men in their wisdom ride beneath a travelling star. Beyond the treasures wealth can buy, the truths by sages heard, there shines the wisdom from on high in God's incarnate Word. To him whom now by faith we know with angel choirs we sing; and like the wise, so long ago, our treasures too we bring. O child, to whom the shepherds came and knelt to you alone, we name your everlasting Name, the Lamb upon his throne!