Classic Poem

Masters, in this Hall,
Hear ye news to-day
Brought from over sea,
And ever I you pray.

Nowell! Nowell! Nowell! Nowell sing we clear
Holpen are all folk on earth, Born is God's Son so dear:
Nowell! Nowell! Nowell! Nowell sing we loud!
God to-day hath poor folk rais'd, And cast down the proud.

Going over the hills,
Through the milk-white snow,
Heard I ewes bleat
While the wind did blow.

Shepherds many an one
Sat among the sheep,
No man spake more word
Than they had been asleep.

Quoth I " Fellows mine,
Why this guise sit ye?
Making but dull cheer,
Shepherds though ye be?

" Shepherds should of right
Leap and dance and sing;
Thus to see ye sit
Is a right strange thing. "

Quoth these fellows then,
" To Bethlem town we go,
To see a mighty Lord
Lie in a manger low. "

" How name ye this Lord,
Shepherds? " then said I.
" Very God , " they said,
" Come from Heaven high. "

Then to Bethlem town
We went two and two
And in a sorry place
Heard the oxen low.

Therein did we see
A sweet and goodly May
And a fair old man;
Upon the straw She lay.

And a little Child
On Her arm had She;
" Wot ye Who this is? "
Said the hinds to me.

Ox and ass Him know,
Kneeling on their knee:
Wondrous joy had I
This little Babe to see.

This is Christ the Lord
Masters, be ye glad!
Christmas is come in,
And no folk should be sad.

Nowell! Nowell! Nowell! Nowell sing we clear
Holpen are all folk on earth, Born is God's Son so dear:
Nowell! Nowell! Nowell! Nowell sing we loud!
God to-day hath poor folk rais'd, And cast down the proud.