The holly and the ivy,
Now both are full well grown,
Of all the trees within the wood,
The holly bears the crown.
O the rising of the sun,
The running of the deer,
The playing of the merry organ,
Sweet singing in the choir,
Sweet singing on the choir.
The holly bears a blossom,
As white as any flow'r,
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ,
To be our sweet Savior.
O the rising of the sun,
The running of the deer,
The playing of the merry organ,
Sweet singing in the choir,
Sweet singing on the choir.
The holly bears a berry,
As red as any blood,
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ,
To do poor sinners good.
O the rising of the sun,
The running of the deer,
The playing of the merry organ,
Sweet singing in the choir,
Sweet singing on the choir.
The holly bears a prickle,
As sharp as any thorn,
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ,
On Christ-mas dayin the morn.
