A frosty Christmas Eve, when the stars where shiningI traveled for the home, where westward falls the hillAnd for many, many a village, in the darkness of the valleydistant music reached me, peels of bells were ringing.Then spread my thoughts to olden times, to that first of Christmaseswhen shepherds who were watching, heard music in the fieldsand they sat there and they marveled, and they knew they could not tellwhether it were angels, or the bright stars a-singingBut to me heard a far, it was starry musicthe singing of the angels, the comfort of our Lordwords of old that come a traveling, by the riches of the timesand I softly listened, as I stood upon the hilland I softly listened, as I stood upon the hill