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 Christian, fear; for sinners here
The silent Word is pleading.
Nails, spear, shall pierce Him through,
The Cross be borne, for me, and 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 the song on high,
The Virgin sings Her lulaby:
Joy, joy for Christ is born,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.
