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 Christian, fear:
For sinners here,
The silent Word is pleading:
Nails, spear, shall pierce Him through,
The Cross be borne, for me and 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 the song on high,
The Virgin sings her lullaby:
Joy, joy, for Christ is born,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.
This is the Son of Mary.