’Twas in the moon of win­ter­time,
When all the birds had fled,
That migh­ty Git­chi Ma­ni­tou
Sent an­gel choirs in­stead;
Before their light the stars grew dim,
And won­der­ing hunt­ers heard the hymn:

Refrain

Jesus your king is born,
Jesus is born,
In ex­cel­sis glor­ia.

Within a lodge of brok­en bark
The ten­der babe was found,
A rag­ged robe of rab­bit skin
Enwrapped His beau­ty round;
But as the hunt­er braves drew nigh,
The an­gel song rang loud and high:

Refrain

The ear­li­est moon of win­ter­time
Is not so round and fair
As was the ring of glo­ry on
The help­less In­fant there.
The chiefs from far be­fore Him knelt
With gifts of fox and bea­ver pelt.

Refrain

O child­ren of the for­est free,
O seed of Ma­ni­tou,
The ho­ly Child of earth and Heav’n
Is born to­day for you.
Come kneel before the ra­di­ant Boy,
Who brings you beau­ty, peace and joy.

Refrain