A child this day is born,
A child of high re­nown.
Most wor­thy of a scep­ter,
And on His head a crown.

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Noëls, no­ëls, no­ëls,
Noëls sing all we may,
Because the King of all kings
Was born this bless­èd day.

The ho­ly pro­phets spoke
Of Him of long years ago,
That from the fall of Ad­am
He should us all re­store.

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This Child both God and man
From Heav’n down to us came,
He is the King of all kings,
And Je­sus is His name.

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These tid­ings shep­herds heard
In their field watch­ing their fold,
Was by an an­gel un­to them
That night re­vealed and told.

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Who stand­ing near by them
To them shin­èd so bright,
That they am­az­èd were
At that most glo­ri­ous sight.

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To whom the an­gel spoke,
Saying, Be not afraid;
Be glad, poor sil­ly shep­herds;
Why are you so dis­mayed?

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For lo, I bring you tid­ings
Of glad­ness and of mirth,
Which com­eth to all peo­ple by
This ho­ly In­fant’s birth.

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Him hath God lift­ed up
As light and shep­herd’s horn,
Which in King Da­vid’s ci­ty
This pre­sent time was born.

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The on­ly Son of God,
The Lord and God most high;
And He is our true shep­herd,
The young Child Je­sus Christ.

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Then joined the an­gel there
A host from Hea­ven sent
Of sun-bright shin­ing sol­diers,
And clouds apart were rent.

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They laud­ed God the Fa­ther,
And His ce­les­ti­al King;
All glo­ry be in pa­ra­dise,
This heav’n­ly host did sing.

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Glory be un­to God,
That sit­teth still on high,
With prais­es and with tri­umph,
His Son has come to us nigh.

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But when this ho­ly ar­my
Of heav’n­ly sol­diers bright
Was un­to God re­turn­èd
And van­ished out of sight;

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Shepherd hearts were joy­ful
At this great glo­ri­ous news
That the King of all kings
Was ris’n ’amongst the Jews.

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Without the least de­lay
Anon they went them in,
And found the young Child Je­sus
Thus born in Beth­le­hem.

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And as the an­gel told them,
So to them did ap­pear:
They found the young Child Je­sus
And Mary, mo­ther dear.

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Now such a place it was
Where this was come to pass:
Lacking room, the Child was laid
Betwixt an ox and ass.

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Luxury none, but simp­ly
Was this young King ar­rayed;
A man­ger was the cra­dle
In which the young Child laid.

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No pride at all was found
In this most ho­ly Child;
Of mor­tal sin was emp­ty,
The Lamb of God most mild.

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His des­ti­ny was pain,
He’d give to set us free;
He is our Sav­ior, Je­sus,
And none but on­ly He.

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To Fa­ther, Son and Ho­ly Ghost
All glo­ry be there­fore,
To whom be all do­min­ion
Both now and ev­er­more.

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