Methinks I see a heav’nly host
Of angels on the wing,
Methinks I hear their cheerful notes,
So merrily they sing:
Let all your fears be banish’d hence,
Glad tidings we proclaim,
For there’s a Savior born today,
And Jesus is his name.

Then learn from hence, ye rural swains,
The meekness of your God,
Who left the boundless realms of joy,
To ransom you with blood.
The master of the inn refus’d
A more commodious place;
Ungen’rous soul of savage mould,
And destitute of grace.

Exult ye oxen, low for joy,
Ye tenants of the stall;
Pay your obeisance; on your knees
Unanimously fall.
The royal guest you entertain
Is not of common birth,
But second in the great I am,
The God of heav’n and earth.

Recordings 1, 2, 3