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,
Christ
the babe is Lord of all.
2
Flocks
were sleeping, shepherds keeping
Virgil
till the morning new;
Saw
glory, heard the story,
Tidings
of the gospel true;
Thus
rejoicing, free from sorrow,
Praises
voicing greet the morrow,
Christ
the babe was born for you,
Christ
the babe was born for you.