Christians, ca­rol sweet­ly,
Up to­day and sing!
’Tis the hap­py birth­day
Of our ho­ly king:
Haste we then to greet Him,
Humbly fall­ing down,
While our hands en­twine Him,
Dearest Babe, a crown.

Crowds of snow-white an­gels
Throng the gold­en stair;
All things are de­light­ful,
All things pass­ing fair;
Bells, clear mu­sic mak­ing,
Peal the news to earth;
Chimes with­in make an­swer,
All is glee and mirth.

Michael, at the ma­nger,
Bows his roy­al face;
Gabriel, with li­ly,
Hides trans­cen­dent grace:
For, dear friends, the glo­ry
Of that low­ly bed
Overpowers the beau­ty
On arch­an­gels shed.

Shall I tell of Jo­seph,
Who, with rapt sur­prise,
Sees the light from God­head
Fill those in­fant eyes?
Shall I sing of Ma­ry,
Who, up­on her breast,
Cradles her cre­at­or,
Soothes Him to His rest?

Angels, Mary, Jo­seph,
Yes, I greet you all!
Falling down in wor­ship
At the man­ger stall!
For you hail our mon­arch,
Born a child to­day;
So with you I wor­ship
And my hom­age pay.