Come, list­en to my sto­ry,
Christus na­tus ho­die:
Born is the King of glo­ry,
Rex de Vir­gi­ne.
Nowell, Now­ell, good news I tell,
God comes on earth a stran­ger:
Eya! Em­ma­nu­el
Lies cra­dled in a man­ger.

Came an­gels down, a num­ber,
On the mid­night of His birth:
Ye shep­herds, wake from slum­ber:
Peace, good­will on earth,
And bliss on high, the an­gels cry,
To you is born and giv­en,
Eya! of maid Ma­rie,
Th’al­migh­ty Lord of Hea­ven.

Then rode three kings to­ge­ther,
Over des­ert, hill, and dale:
Naught car­ing for the wea­ther,
Sleet, and snow, and hail.
They came from far, led by a star,
With beams that ne­ver va­ry:
Eya! full fain they are
To see the Babe of Ma­ry.

Away then ban­ish sor­row;
Nato Re­gi psal­li­te;
Sith Christ is born this mor­row,
Benedicte.
With an­gels eke and shep­herds meek,
And with yon east­ern sag­es,
Eya! let us go seek
The new­born King of ag­es.