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.

Why lies He in such mean estate, Where ox and ass are 
feeding?
Good Christians, 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.

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 a song on high, The virgin sings her 
lullaby.
Joy, joy for Christ is born, The Babe, the Son of Mary.