Glory to God on high! Stars of the morning sky, Sing as ye sang upon the first creation, When all the Sons of God Shouted for joy abroad, And earth was laid upon a sure foundation.
Glory to God again! Peace and goodwill to men, And kindly feeling all the wide world over, Where friends with joy and mirth Meet round the Christmas hearth, Or dreams of home the solitary rover.
Glory to God! True hearts, Lo, now the dark departs, And morning on the snow-clad hills grows grey. Oh, may love's dawning light Kindled from loveless night, Shine more and more unto the perfect day!
THE BURIAL OF WILLIAM--THE CONQUEROR
Oh, who may this dead warrior be That to his grave they bring? `Tis William, Duke of Normandy, The conqueror and king.
Across the sea, with fire and sword, The English crown he won; The lawless Scots they owned him lord, But now his rule is done.
A king should die from length of years, A conqueror in the field, A king amid his people's tears, A conqueror on his shield.
But he, who ruled by sword and flame, Who swore to ravage France, Like some poor serf without a name, Has died by mere mischance.