What child is this, who laid to rest, on Mary's lap, sleeping?
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet, while shepherds watch are keeping?
This, This is Christ the King, whom shepherds guard and angels keep
Haste, Haste to bring Him laud, the Babe, the Son of Mary
Why lies He in such a mean estate, where oxen deaths are feeding?
Good Christians fear, for sinners hear, the silent Word is pleading
Nails, Nails, shall pierce Him through the crocks He bore for me, for you
Hail, hail the one made flesh, the Babe, the Son of Mary
So bring Him incense, food and myrrh, come, peasant king, to own Him
The King of kings salvation brings, let loving hearts enthrone Him
Raise, Raise a song on high, the Virgin sings her lullaby
Joy, Joy, for Christ is born, the Babe, the Son of Mary
This, This is Christ the King, whom shepherds guard and angels sing
Haste, Haste to bring Him laud, the Babe, the Son of Mary