1 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!

2 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!