I'll be home for Christmas You can count on me Please have snow and mistletoe And presents under the tree Christmas Eve will find me Where the love light beams I'll be home for Christmas If only in my dreams
Christmas Eve will find me Where the love light beams I'll be home for Christmas If only in my dreams If only in my dreams
All is calm, all is bright Round yon virgin mother and child Holy infant, so tender and mild Sleep in heavenly peace Sleep in heavenly peace
Silent night, Holy night Shepherds quake at the sight Glories stream of Heaven afar Heavenly host sing alleluia Christ the Saviour is born Christ the Saviour is born
Sweetly singing o'er the plain And the mountains in reply Echoing their joyous strains Glo-glo-glo-gloria, in excelsis Deo Ooh, no, yeah yeah
Shepards, why this jubilee Why your joyous song prolong What the gladsome tidings be, ohh That inspire your heavenly song Glo-glo-glo-gloria, in excelsis Deo Oh oh oh, ooh oh, oh yeah
Ohh, come to Bethlehem and see Him whose birth the angels sing, oh Come on adore on bended knee Christ, the Lord, our new-born King Glo-glo-glo-gloria, in excelsis Deo, oh yeah
Eric Dawkins: On the day, that Christ was born The angels sang such a heavenly song In excelsis Deo, ohh
Angels we have heard on high Angels we have heard on high Angels we have heard on high Angels we have heard on high In excelsis Deo In excelsis Deo In excelsis Deo
It came upon the midnight clear, That glorious song of old, From angels bending near the earth To touch their harps of gold: "Peace on the earth, good will to men, From heaven's all-gracious King." The world in solemn stillness lay To hear the angels sing.
Still through the cloven skies they come With peaceful wings unfurled, And still their heavenly music floats O'er all the weary world; Above its sad and lowly plains They bend on hovering wing, And ever o'er its Babel-sounds The blessed angels sing.
Yet with the woes of sin and strife The world has suffered long; Beneath the heavenly strain have rolled Two thousand years of wrong; And man, at war with man, hears not The tidings which they bring; O hush the noise, ye men of strife, And hear the angels sing!
O ye, beneath life's crushing load, Whose forms are bending low, Who toil along the climbing way With painful steps and slow, Look now! for glad and golden hours Come swiftly on the wing; O rest beside the weary road And hear the angels sing!
For lo! the days are hastening on, By prophets seen of old, When with the ever-circling years Shall come the time foretold, When peace shall over all the earth Its ancient splendors fling, And the whole world give back the song Which now the angels sing.