'Twas in the moon of winter-time

When all the birds had fled,

That mighty Gitchi Manitou

Sent angel choirs instead;

Before their light the stars grew dim,

And wandering hunters heard the hymn:

"Jesus your King is born, Jesus is born,

In excelsis gloria."



Within a lodge of broken bark

The tender Babe was found,

A ragged robe of rabbit skin

Enwrapp'd His beauty round;

But as the hunter braves drew nigh,

The angel song rang loud and high...

"Jesus your King is born, Jesus is born,

In excelsis gloria."



The earliest moon of wintertime

Is not so round and fair

As was the ring of glory

On the helpless infant there.

The chiefs from far before him knelt

With gifts of fox and beaver pelt.

Jesus your King is born, Jesus is born,

In excelsis gloria.



O children of the forest free,

O sons of Manitou,

The Holy Child of earth and heaven

Is born today for you.

Come kneel before the radiant Boy

Who brings you beauty, peace and joy.

"Jesus your King is born, Jesus is born,

In excelsis gloria."