As Joseph was a walk­ing,
He heard an an­gel sing;
His song was of the com­ing
Of Christ, our Sav­ior King.
The good man, long de­ject­ed,
Had knelt to Him who hears;
The blest re­frain now swell­ing
Removes his doubts and fears.

“Be not afraid when hear­ing
The choirs se­ra­phic sing;
This night shall be the birth­tide
Of Christ the hea­ven­ly King;
He neith­er shall in hous­en
Be born, nor yet in hall;
Nor bed, nor downy pil­low,
But in an ox­en stall.

He nei­ther shall be cloth­èd
In pur­ple nor in pall,
But in the fair white lin­en
That us­en babies all.
He nei­ther shall be rock­èd
In sil­ver nor in gold;
But in a wood­en man­ger,
That rest­eth on the mold.

As Jo­seph was a walk­ing,
Thus did an an­gel sing;
At night the mo­ther maid­en
Gave birth to Christ our king.
The bless­èd vir­gin wrapped Him
From night­ly winds, so wild;
The low­ly man­ger held Him,
Her won­drous ho­ly Child.

And mar­shaled on the mount­ain,
The an­gels raise their song;
The shep­herds hear the sto­ry
In an­thems clear and strong.
The her­ald hymn obey­ing,
Nor loth, nor yet afraid,
They seek the low­ly dwell­ing,
And there the Child is laid!

Then be ye glad, good peo­ple,
This night of all the year;
And light ye up your can­dles—
His star it shin­eth near;
And all in earth and Hea­ven,
Our Christ­mas ca­rol sing:
Good will, and peace, and glo­ry!
And all the bells shall ring.