Women of the Early Harlem Renaissance: African American Women Writers 1900-1922

The Angel's Message

There's a wonderful story,
   Thai never grows old,
Though centuries have pissed,
   Since first it was told ;
Since the angel of God,
   On that far, early morn.
Proclaimed to the shepherds,
   That Jesus was born.
Ah, the news was too great
   For poor mortal to to bring!
An angel must tell
   Of the birth of the King.

The people of God
   Had long looked for His Son,
The prophets had said:
   "He surely will come,
Jehovah has promised
   His own Son to give,
To suffer and die,
   That His people may live."
And the angels were first
   The glad tidings to bring:
"Glory to God in the highest,
   He has sent thee thy King!"

The wondering shepherds
   Cast out all their fears.
When the angels' glad tidings
   Rang sweet in their ears,
And leaving their flocks,
   Into Bethlehem went.
And beheld the great Gift
   Their Father had sent.
In a Bethlehem stable
   The little One lay;
His cradle, the manger;
   His pillow, the hay.

The bright star of promise
   Was seen in the east,
And then, to the manger
   Came prophet and priest,
Came hither the wise men,
   Rich presents to bring,
And worship this Infant,
   Their Savior and King.
Then returned to their land
   By a devious way.
That the king might not know
   Where the little One lay.

Now, when they'd departed,
   An angel of light
Appeared unto Joseph,
   Slumbering at night:
"Arise! take the Child
   And His mother, and fly;
King Herod decrees
   That the Infant must die."
And Joseph and Mary
   Fled off in the night,
With Christ, our Redeemer,
   From Herod's grim mighty
Into Egypt they went
   With the pure Holy One;
Oh, the Father knew well
   How to guard His dear Son!
The Son He so loved,
   But freely did give
To die, that the whole world
   Might look up, and live.

Ah no! that sweet story
   Can never grow old.
Though long years have passed,
   Since first it was told;
Since first the glad angels
   Sang sweet its refrain,
And now we repeat it
   "Glory to God in the highest,
For the dear Savior's birth!
   Glory to God in the highest,
And peace upon earth!"
   And down through the ages,
That chorus shall ring,
   Till earth's ev'ry nation
Crowns Jesus its King.
   Again and again :

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