Ah, dearest Jesus, holy Child,
Make Thee a bed, soft, undefiled
Within my heart, that it may be
A quiet chamber kept for Thee.

My heart for very joy doth leap,
My lips no more can silence keep;
I, too, must sing with joyful tongue
That sweetest ancient cradle song.

Glory to God in highest Heaven,
Who unto man His Son hath given;
While angels sing with tender mirth,
A glad new year to all the earth.


Text:
Mar­tin Lu­ther, 1535;
trans­lat­ed from Ger­man to Eng­lish
by Ca­ther­ine Wink­worth, 1855.
These lyr­ics are from the long­er hymn,
From Heav­en Above to Earth I Come.




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