Over a world of sorrow
Are angels bending low,
Stooping to soothe and comfort
Hearts that are filled with woe.
Piercing the war cloud’s thunder,
They come from the realms of light;
They have heard the sighs and groanings
In the gloom of sorrow’s night.
Over the din of battle.
With its cries of grief and pain,
The angels of peace are singing
That wonderful refrain.
They sing of the Prince of Glory
Who came as a little child;
They tell once again the story
Of Christ the undefiled.
And many a weary warrior
Pauses to think and pray;
Rememb’ring loved ones waiting
In homes so far away.
And far from the scenes of battle.
In fancy oft they roam,
Seeing their dear ones spending
Christinas in home, sweet home.
While mothers cease their weeping
To hear the angels’ song,
And hearts oppressed by sorrow,
Echo the cry, “how long!”
How long, O Lord, till strivings
And wars for ever cease?
How long till the war-clouds scatter
Before the star of peace?
Are angels bending low,
Stooping to soothe and comfort
Hearts that are filled with woe.
Piercing the war cloud’s thunder,
They come from the realms of light;
They have heard the sighs and groanings
In the gloom of sorrow’s night.
Over the din of battle.
With its cries of grief and pain,
The angels of peace are singing
That wonderful refrain.
They sing of the Prince of Glory
Who came as a little child;
They tell once again the story
Of Christ the undefiled.
And many a weary warrior
Pauses to think and pray;
Rememb’ring loved ones waiting
In homes so far away.
And far from the scenes of battle.
In fancy oft they roam,
Seeing their dear ones spending
Christinas in home, sweet home.
While mothers cease their weeping
To hear the angels’ song,
And hearts oppressed by sorrow,
Echo the cry, “how long!”
How long, O Lord, till strivings
And wars for ever cease?
How long till the war-clouds scatter
Before the star of peace?
MARGARET S. NORRIS.
Poem: The Witness, 28th December 1917.
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