What Child Is This?
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!
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 the song on high,
The Virgin sings her lullaby:
Joy, joy, for Christ is born,
The Babe, the Son of Mary!
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Her husband works in Jodrell Bank, he's home late in the morning,
had he been a lawyer, he wouldn't work for pennies.
In the morning I go walking, it helps the hurting soften,
I've seen a lot of places, 'cos I miss her very often.
But I could never work there, what a shame that I'm not clever,
it's for men with horn rimmed glasses, and four distinguished "A Level" passes.
What chance so long ago, I buried something I should know.
Verse and chapter they unfurl, - and sprinkle it upon the world. Name it.
Her husband works in Jodrell Bank, he's home late in the morning,
had he been a lawyer, he wouldn't work for pennies.
In the morning I go walking, it helps the hurting soften,
I've seen a lot of places, 'cos I miss her very often.
But I could never work there, what a shame that I'm not clever,
it's for men with horn rimmed glasses, and four distinguished "A Level" passes.
What chance so long ago, I buried something I should know.
Verse and chapter they unfurl, - and sprinkle it upon the world. Name it.