O Night, restful and deep
The Babe folded in sleep,
In a poor manger dreameth!
Moonlight softly doth shine,
Around melody streameth:
“He is the Babe Divine!
He is the Babe Divine!”

O Dawn, rosy and shy,
Greet Him where He doth lie,
At the birds’ call awaking!
As clouds fleeing from sight,
So all shadows are breaking:
”He is the dark World’s Light!
He is the dark World’s Light!”

Oh Morn, lovely and blest,
Round Him, guarding His rest,
Angels gently are singing:
”Hail Him! Heavenly Dove!”
Their notes joyfully ringing:
”He is the King of Love!
He is the King of Love!”

O Day, glorious the hour,
Jesus mighty in power,
Waketh in lowly manger!
He bids sorrowing cease;
Seek Him ever in danger!
He is the sad World’s Peace.
He is the sad World’s Peace.

words from O bienheureuse nuit, a French Noel, English Translation by K. W. Simpson

A spotless Rose is blowing
Sprung from a tender root,
Of ancient seers’ foreshowing,
Of Jesse promised fruit;
Its fairest bud unfolds to light
Amid the cold, cold winter
And in the dark midnight.

The Rose which I am singing,
Whereof Isaiah said,
Is from its sweet root springing
In Mary, purest Maid;
For through our God’s great love and might
The blessed babe she bare us
In a cold, cold winter’s night.

Words: Es Ist Ein Ros, 15th Century German carol,
Translated by Catherine Winkworth, 1869