THE OLD, OLD STORY.
Listen, Lordings, unto me, a tale I will you tell,
Which, as on this night of glee, in David's town befell.
Joseph came from Nazareth, with Mary that sweet maid;
Weary were they, nigh to death; and for a lodging pray'd.
Sing high, sing high, sing low, sing low,
Sing high, sing low, sing to and fro,
Go tell it out with speed,
Cry out and shout all round about,
That Christ is born indeed.
In the inn they found no room; a scanty bed they made:
Soon a Babe from Mary's womb was in the manger laid.
Forth He came as light through glass: He came to save us all,
In the stable ox and ass before their Maker fall.
Sing high, sing low, etc.
Shepherds lay afield that night, to keep the silly sheep,
Hosts of angels in their sight came down from heaven's high steep.
Tidings! tidings! unto you: to you a Child is born,
Purer than the drops of dew, and brighter than the morn.
Sing high, sing low, etc.
Onward then the angels sped, the shepherds onward went,
God was in His manger bed, in worship low they bent.
In the morning see ye mind, my masters one and all,
At the altar Him to find who lay within the stall.
Sing high, sing low, etc.
H. R. Bramley.