LITMIR.BIZ

      God bless the master of this house,

      The mistress also,

      And all the little children,

      That round the table go.

      And all your kin and folk,

      That dwell both far and near;

      I wish you a merry Christmas,

      And a happy New Year.

      From far away we come to you.

      The snow in the street, and the wind on the door,

      To tell of great tidings, strange and true.

      Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.

      From far away we come to you,

      To tell of great tidings, strange and true.

      For as we wandered far and wide,

      The snow in the street, and the wind on the door,

      What hap do you deem there should us betide?

      Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.

      Under a bent when the night was deep,

      The snow in the street, and the wind on the door,

      There lay three shepherds, tending their sheep.

      Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.

      “O ye shepherds, what have ye seen,

      The snow in the street, and the wind on the door,

      To stay your sorrow and heal your teen?”

      Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.

      “In an ox stall this night we saw,

      The snow in the street, and the wind on the door,

      A Babe and a maid without a flaw.

      Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.

      “There was an old man there beside;

      The snow in the street, and the wind on the door,

      His hair was white, and his hood was wide.

      Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.

      “And as we gazed this thing upon,

      The snow in the street, and the wind on the door,

      Those twain knelt down to the little one.

      Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.

      “And a marvellous song we straight did hear,

      The snow in the street, and the wind on the door.

      That slew our sorrow and healed our care.”

      Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.

      News of a fair and marvellous thing,

      The snow in the street, and the wind on the door,

      Nowell, Nowell, Nowell, we sing.

      Minstrels and maids, stand forth on the floor.

      From far away we come to you,

      To tell of great tidings, strange and true.

      Lordings, listen to our lay —

      We have come from far away

      To seek Christmas;

      In this mansion we are told

      He His yearly feast doth hold:

      ’Tis to-day!

      May joy come from God above,

      To all those who Christmas love.

      ’Twas jolly, jolly Wat, my foy,

      He was a goodman’s shepherd boy,

      And he sat by his sheep

      On the hill-side so steep,

      And piped this song,

      Ut hoy! Ut hoy!

      O merry, merry sing for joy,

      Ut hoy!

      A’down from Heav’n that is so high

      There came an angel companye,

      And on Bethlehem hill

      Thro’ the night-tide so still

      Their song out-rang:

      On high, On high,

      O glory be to God on high,

      On high!

      Now must Wat go where Christ is born,

      Yea, go and come again to-morn.

      And my pipe it shall play,

      All my heart it doth say

      To Shepherd King:

      Ut hoy! Ut hoy!

      O merry, merry sing for joy,

      Ut hoy!

      O peace on earth, good will to men,

      The angels sang again, again,

      For to you was He born

      On this Christmas morn,

      So sing we all:

      On high, On high,

      O glory be to God on high,

      On high!

      Jesu my King, it’s naught for Thee,

      A bob of cherries, one, two, three,

      But my tar-box and ball,

      And my pipe, I give all

      To Thee, my King.

      Ut hoy! Ut hoy!

      O merry, merry sing for joy,

      Ut hoy!

      Farewell, herd-boy, saith Mary mild.

      Thanks, jolly Wat, smiled Mary’s child,

      For fit gift for a king

      Is your heart in the thing.

      So pipe you well,

      For joy, for joy!

      O merry, merry sing for joy,

      Ut hoy!

      Our shepherds all

      As pilgrims have departed,

      Our shepherds all

      Have gone to Bethlehem.

      They gladly go

      For they are all stout-hearted,

      They gladly go —

      Ah, could I go with them!

      I am too lame to walk,

      Boots and saddles, boots and saddles,

      I am too lame to walk,

      Boots and saddles, mount and ride.

      A shepherd stout

      Who sang a catamiaulo,

      A shepherd stout

      Was walking lazily.

      He heard me speak

      And saw me hobbling after,

      He turned and said

      He

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