I hear the angels singing,
With voices sweet and clear,
About things pure and lovely,
The good times drawing near,
They wave a snowy banner,
Brought from their home on high,
On it the glorious tidings,
That "man shall never die",

This earth holds much of sorrow,
Which man while here must share,
But then, all buds of promise,
Will find fruition there,
The angels say they're coming,
To take us by-and-by,
To live with them in freedom,
For man can never die.