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Infant Holy, Infant Lowly

Infant Holy, Infant lowly,
For His bed a cattle stall.
Oxen lowing, little knowing
Christ the Babe is Lord of all.
Swift are winging angels singing,
Noels ringing, tidings bringing;
Christ the Babe is Lord of all.

Flocks are sleeping. Shepherds keeping
Vigil till the morning new
Saw the glory, heard the story,
Tidings of a Gospel true.
Thus rejoicing, free from sorrow,
Praises voicing greet the morrow:
Christ the Babe was born for you.