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John Brownlie


Glory in the highest!

Hark, what angels sing:

Was there e'er such music

Borne on rising wing?

See, the gates of heaven

On their portals rise,

And the song that charms us

Comes from Paradise.

Glory in the highest!

Christ our Lord is born;

Hail His glorious advent

On this happy morn;

Ages long have waited

'Mid their brooding ills;

Now the herald-voices

Wake the silent hills.


Herdsmen in their watching

Lift their eyes amazed;

Sages from the sunland

At the starlight gazed;

And they bear their treasures,

Gold for diadem,

Meet to crown the Monarch

Born at Bethlehem.

Glory in the highest!

With the sages bring

What is best and fairest

For an offering;

Lay before the manger

Where the Infant lies,

All your heart's devotion,

Love's best sacrifice.

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