We’ve been told a joy­ful thing,
News for all the na­tions.
Angels have been heard to sing
Round the shep­herd sta­tions,
One in­toned the Glo­ria,
Others Al­le­lu­ia;
Peace to all things hu­man;
War no more for true man.

Up and get you quick­ly there
Folk of field and vil­lage!
Over to that sta­ble bare
Up be­yond the til­lage.
There you’ll find a ba­by born
Old be­fore His mo­ther’s morn
Young with dewy splen­dor
Of par­ent stem so ten­der.

So we come to pay our vows:
Hail! God save thee, Ma­ry!
Joseph, man of this poor house,
Fortune seems con­tra­ry.
Let us look on Christ the Lord,
That was sure the an­gel’s word.
Swathèd in a man­ger,
Welcome, ho­ly Stran­ger!