There’s a won­der­ul tree,
A won­der­ul tree,
The hap­py child­ren re­joice to see;
It is spread­ing its branch­es
Year by year,
It comes from the for­est
To flour­ish here.
Oh, this beau­ti­ful tree,
With its branch­es wide,
Is al­ways, is al­ways bloom­ing
At Christ­mas tide.

It is not alone
In the sum­mer’s sheen,
Its boughs are broad
And its leaves are green;
It is bloom­ing for us
As the wild winds blow,
And earth is all white
With the fea­thery snow;
And this won­der­ful tree,
With its branch­es wide,
Bears ma­ny, bears ma­ny a gift
For the Christ­mas tide.

It is all alone
Wth its ta­pers’ glow,
That flash on shin­ing eyes be­low,
And the strange, sweet fruit
On each lad­en bough,
Is all to be plucked
By the ga­ther­ers now.
Oh! this won­der­ul tree,
With its branch­es wide,
We hail it, we hail it, with joy
At the Christ­mas­tide.

And a voice is tell­ing
Its boughs among,
Of shep­herds watch­ing
And an­gels’ song;
Of a ho­ly Babe
In a man­ger low,
The beau­ti­ful sto­ry of long ago.
When a ra­di­ant star
Threw its beams so wide,
To her­ald, to her­ald
The ear­li­est Christ­mas­tide.

So then spread thy branch­es,
O won­der­ul tree,
And bring some dain­ty gift to me;
May you fill my heart
With burn­ing love,
To Him who didst come
From His home above;
From His beau­ti­ful home
With the glo­ri­fied,
To give us, to give us
The joy of Christ­mas­tide.