1 Infant holy, Infant lowly,
for His bed a cattle stall;
oxen lowing, little knowing
Christ the babe is Lord of all.
Swift are winging angels singing,
Nowells ringing, tidings bringing:
Christ the babe is Lord of all,
Christ the babe is Lord of all!
2 Flocks were sleeping, shepherds keeping
vigil till the morning new,
saw the glory, heard the story —
tidings of a gospel true.
Thus rejoicing, free from sorrow,
praises voicing greet tomorrow:
Christ the babe was born for you,
Christ the babe was born for you!