Hark the herald angels sing, but no more;
Their voices, weak and overtaxed, now bray.
For who could, if he to be honest swore,
Rejoice and be glad all the night and day?
And if true their power to sing ne'er wanes,
Then what can one conclude but this:
That voice and song so joyous are their chains,
And ‘tis slaves they must be, lacking in bliss.
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