What child is this who, laid to rest
On Mary’s lap is sleep­ing?
Whom an­gels greet with an­thems sweet,
While shep­herds watch are keep­ing?
This, this is Christ the King,
Whom shep­herds guard and an­gels sing;
Haste, haste, to bring Him laud,
The Babe, the son of Ma­ry.

Why lies He in such mean es­tate,
Where ox and ass are feed­ing?
Good Chris­tians, fear, for sin­ners here
The si­lent Word is plead­ing.
Nails, spear shall pierce Him through,
The cross be borne for me, for you.
Hail, hail the Word made flesh,
The Babe, the son of Ma­ry.

So bring Him in­cense, gold and myrrh,
Come pea­sant, king to own Him;
The King of kings sal­va­tion brings,
Let lov­ing hearts en­throne Him.
Raise, raise a song on high,
The vir­gin sings her lul­la­by.
Joy, joy for Christ is born,
The Babe, the son of Ma­ry.