'Twas in the moon of wintertime when all the birds had fled

That mighty Gitchi Manitou sent angel choirs instead;

Before their light the stars grew dim and wondering 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 enwrapped 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 seed 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.