Advent

No prophet speaks to-day,
No voice from heaven we hear;
Cheerless we grope our way
Through darkness and in fear.


Quenched are our Altar fires;
God hears not Israel's cry;
Our Nation's hope expires;
In deep despair we lie!


But hark! what means that shout
Which cleaves the midnight sky?
What joyous songs ring out
Their rapturous melody?


"Behold! is born this day
A Saviour, Christ, the Lord."
A King shall He bear sway,
Nations shall hear His word!


"Glory to God on high!
On earth to men good will!"
God hath heard Israel's cry;
He loves His people still!