Angels From the Realms of Glory

This beautiful hymn was first published in 1816 in London, England. It was written by James Montgomery, poet and owner of the Sheffield Iris newspaper. You might recognize his name from another of the 400-plus hymns he wrote; Go To Dark Gethsemane.

Montgomery was born in 1771 in Scotland to soon-to-be missionary parents. His father was a pastor in the Moravian brethren, and when James was 6, his parents moved to the West Indies to be missionaries. At that time, he went to boarding school, which did not go well for him, and while he was there, his parents died when he was 12. They wanted him to follow in his father's footsteps and become a minister. But he was dismissed from seminary because of his unwavering interest in poetry. James had no shortage of reasons to abandon his faith.

After being kicked out of school, he struggled with homelessness and hunger. He sometimes peddled his poems on the street for money to buy food. Eventually, he made his way to Sheffield, where he got a job in a newspaper office. This proved to be the turning point in his life. After many run-ins with the law and numerous nights in jail, his boss was driven out of town for his public stand in support of a free Ireland. At this point, Montgomery assumed control of the paper and changed its name to the Sheffield Iris.

Under Montgomery's leadership, the paper began to prosper, and his wealth increased. With his publishing power and writing acumen, he began publishing many of his poems. With his wealth, he began supporting William Wilberforce and the British Bible Society in their efforts to make Bibles available to all, regardless of cost.

Then, in 1816, after reading Luke chapter 2, Montgomery penned this poem.

Angels from the realms of glory, 

wing your flight o'er all the earth; 

ye who sang creation's story 

now proclaim Messiah's birth

Refrain

Come and worship, come and worship, 

worship Christ, the newborn king.

Shepherds, in the field abiding, 

watching o'er your flocks by night, 

God with us is now residing; 

yonder shines the infant light 

(Refrain)

Sages, leave your contemplations, 

brighter visions beam afar; 

seek the great Desire of nations; 

ye have seen his natal star 

(Refrain)

Saints, before the altar bending, 

watching long in hope and fear; 

suddenly the Lord, descending, 

in his temple shall appear 

(Refrain)

The poem closely follows the story of Christ's birth in Luke 2. But the first stanza offers us something to consider beyond the story that we know so well. There are two times in all of history that the Angels break through the silence of the earth, at creation and at Christ's Birth.

It's in one of God's responses to Job that we find the angels praising at the time of Creation. In Job 38:4-7, God says, "Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding. Who determined its measurements - surely you know! Or who stretched the line upon it? On what were its bases sunk, or who laid its cornerstone, when the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy?" And then in Luke 2:13, "And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!"

The fact that this only happened twice in all of history should give us an understanding of the weight and impact of Christ's birth. It is as monumental of an event as that of Creation itself.

This hymn is yet another call to worship, as is the season of Advent.

James Montgomery retired from publishing his newspaper after 32 years while continuing to write the poetry that got him removed from seminary. One such poem was so popular that parts of it are engraved on the granite memorial built over his grave in the Sheffield cemetery. It's a beautiful poem titled "What is Prayer?" As we continue in this season of Advent, this call to worship, I leave you with his poem.


Prayer is the soul's sincere desire,
Unuttered or expressed;
The motion of a hidden fire,
That trembles in the breast.

Prayer is the burden of a sigh,
The falling of a tear;
The upward glancing of an eye,
When none but God is near.

Prayer is the simplest form of speech
That infant lips can try;
Prayer, the sublimest strains that reach
The Majesty on high.

Prayer is the Christian's vital breath,
The Christian's native air;
His watchword at the gates of death —
He enters heaven with prayer.

Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice,
Returning from his ways;
While angels in their songs rejoice
And cry, "Behold, he prays!"

The saints in prayer appear as one,
In word, in deed, and mind;
While with the Father and the Son,
Sweet fellowship they find.

No prayer is made by man alone
The Holy Spirit pleads;
And Jesus, on th' eternal throne
For sinners intercedes.

O Thou! by Whom we come to God,
The Life, the Truth, the Way;
The path of prayer Thyself hast trod:
Lord, teach us how to pray.

As fail the waters from the deep,
As summer brooks run dry,
Man lieth down in dreamless sleep,
His life is vanity.

Man lieth down, no more to wake,
Till yonder arching sphere
Shall with a roll of thunder break,
And nature disappear.

Oh! hide me till Thy wrath be past,
Thou, who canst slay or save!
Hide me where hope may anchor fast,
In my Redeemer's grave!