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 were sleeping: shepherds keeping
vigil till the morning new
Saw the glory, heard the story, m
tidings of a gospel true.
Thus rejoicing, free from sorrow,
Praises voicing greet the morrow:
Christ the babe was born for you.
