Ray Conniff Greensleeves
What Child is this who, laid to rest On Mary’s lap is
sleeping?
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet, While shepherds
watch are keeping?
This, this is Christ the King, Whom shepherds guard and
angels sing;
Haste, haste, to bring Him laud, The Babe, the Son of
Mary.
Why lies He in such mean estate, Where ox and ass are
feeding?
Good Christians, fear, for sinners here The silent Word
is pleading.
Nails, spear shall pierce Him through, The cross be borne
for me, for you.
Hail, hail the Word made flesh, The Babe, the Son of
Mary.
So bring Him incense, gold and myrrh, Come peasant, king
to own Him;
The King of kings salvation brings, Let loving hearts
enthrone Him.
Raise, raise a song on high, The virgin sings her
lullaby.
Joy, joy for Christ is born, The Babe, the Son of Mary.
