(BridgesHoldridge)

A frosty Christmas Eve, when the stars where shining,
I traveled for the home, where westward falls the hill
And for many, many a village, in the darkness of the valley,
distant music reached me, peels of bells were ringing

Then spread my thoughts to olden times, to that first of Christmases
when shepherds who were watching, heard music in the fields
And they sat there and they marveled, and they knew they could not tell
whether it were angels, or the bright stars a singing

But to me heard a far, it was starry music,
the singing of the angels, the comfort of our Lord
Words of old that come a traveling, by the riches of the times,
and I softly listened, as I stood upon the hill
And I softly listened, as I stood upon the hill