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
Tidings of the gospel true
Thus rejoicing, free from sorrow,
Praises voicing, greet the morrow:
Christ the babe was born for you.