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.
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