"What Child is This?" Or "The Holly and the Ivy"
1. 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! 2. 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, for you, Hail, hail the Word made flesh, The Babe, the Son of Mary! 3. 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 lullaby, Joy, joy, for Christ is born, The Babe, the Son of Mary! |
1. The holly and the ivy,
When they are both full grown, Of all the trees that are in the wood, The holly bears the crown. The rising of the sun And the running of the deer, The playing of the merry organ, Sweet singing in the choir. 2. The holly bears a blossom, As white as the lily flower, And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ, To be our sweet Saviour. The rising of the sun And the running of the deer, The playing of the merry organ, Sweet singing in the choir. 3. The holly bears a berry, As red as any blood, And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ For to do us sinners good. The rising of the sun And the running of the deer, The playing of the merry organ, Sweet singing in the choir. 4. The holly bears a prickle, As sharp as any thorn, And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ On Christmas Day in the morn. The rising of the sun And the running of the deer, The playing of the merry organ, Sweet singing in the choir. 5. The holly bears a bark, As bitter as any gall, And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ For to redeem us all. The rising of the sun And the running of the deer, The playing of the merry organ, Sweet singing in the choir. 6. The holly and the ivy, When they are both full grown, Of all the trees that are in the wood, The holly bears the crown. The rising of the sun And the running of the deer, The playing of the merry organ, Sweet singing in the choir. |