1 Infant holy, infant lowly,
for his bed a cattle-stall;
oxen lowing, little knowing
Christ the Babe is Lord of all.
Swiftly winging angels singing,
bells are 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 the morrow:
Christ the babe was born for you,
Christ the babe was born for you.