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.
- attributed to Piotrowi Skardze; translated by Edith M. G. Reed
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