Infant holy,
Infant lowly,
For His bed a cattle stall;
Oxen lowing,
Little knowing
Christ the Babe is Lord of all.
Swift are winging
Angles singing,
Noels ringing,
Tidings bringing:
Christ the Babe is Lord of all.
Christ the Babe is Lord of all.
Flocks were 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.
Christ the Babe was born for you.