What sweeter music can we bring
Than a carol, for to sing
The birth of this our heavenly King?
Awake the voice! awake the string!
Heart, ear, and eye, and everything!
Dark and dull night, fly hence away,
And give the honour to this day,
That sees December turned to May.
If we may ask the reason, say,
The why and wherefore all things here
Seem like the spring-time of the year?
Why does the chilling winter’s morn
Smile, like a field beset with corn?
Or smell, like to a mead new-shorn,
Thus, on the sudden?
Come and see
The cause, why things thus fragrant be.
’Tis He is born, whose quickening birth
Gives light and lustre, public mirth,
To heaven, and the under-earth.
We see Him come, and know Him ours,
Who with His sunshine and His showers
Turns all the patient ground to flowers.
The darling of the world is come,
And fit it is we find a room
To welcome Him. The nobler part
Of all the house here, is the heart,
Which we will give Him; and bequeath
This holly, and this ivy wreath,
To do Him honour; who’s our King,
And Lord of all this revelling.