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, 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 a Gospel true. Thus rejoicing, free from sorrow, praises voicing, greet the morrow: Christ the Babe was born for you.
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