Joseph was an old man,
An old man was he;
He mar­ried sweet Ma­ry,
The queen of Ga­li­lee.

As they want a-walk­ing
In the gar­den so gay;
Maid Ma­ry spied cher­ries,
Hanging ov­er yon tree.

Mary said to Jo­seph
With her sweet lips so mild,
Pluck those cher­ries, Jo­seph,
For to give to my child.

O then, re­plièd Jo­seph,
With words so un­kind,
I will pluck no cher­ries
For to give to thy child.

Mary said to cher­ry tree,
Bow down to my knee,
That I may pluck cher­ries,
By one, two and three.

Then the up­per­most sprig then
Bowed down to her knee;
Thus you may see, Jo­seph,
These cher­ries are for me.

O eat your cher­ries, Ma­ry,
O eat your cher­ries now,
O eat your cher­ries, Mary,
That grow up­on the bough.

As Joseph was a-walk­ing,
He heard an­gels sing,
“This night there shall be born,
Our hea­ven­ly king.

“He nei­ther shall be born
In house nor in hall,
Nor in the place of pa­ra­dise,
But in an ox stall.

“He shall not be clothed
In pur­ple or pall;
But all in fair lin­en,
As wear ba­bies all.

“He shall not be rock­èd
In sil­ver nor gold,
But in a wood­en cra­dle
That rocks on the mould.

He nei­ther shall be christ­ened
In milk nor in wine,
But in pure spring well wa­ter
Fresh sprung from Beth­ine.

Mary took her ba­by,
She dressed Him so sweet,
She laid Him in a man­ger,
All there for to sleep.

As she stood ov­er Him
She heard an­gels sing:
O bless our dear Sav­ior,
Our hea­ven­ly king.