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101-200

127 – Infant Holy, Infant Lowly

1
Infant holy, infant lowly,
For His bed a cattle stall;
Oxen lowing, little knowing
Christ the babe is Lord of all;
Swift are winging angels singing,
Noels ringing, tidings bringing,
Christ the babe is Lord of all,
Christ the babe is Lord of all.
2
Flocks were sleeping, shepherds keeping
Vigil till the morning new;
Saw the glory, heard the story,
Tidings of the gospel true;
Thus rejoicing, free from sorrow,
Praises voicing greet the morrow,
Christ the babe was born for you,
Christ the babe was born for you.

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Do you think I cannot call on my Father, and he will at once put at my disposal more than twelve legions of angels?

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