20. Twentieth Carol

(Hold ye the boughs)

Palm trees are bending low

As your wings shake.

Do not, holy angels, rouse,

Do not awake

My darling Boy

That all heaven endows.

So he might sleep

Hold ye the boughs,

Hold ye the boughs.

 

Palm trees of Bethlehem

So agitated

As furious gales now vent

Rage unabated.

Quieten your thunder,

Remember your vows,

So He might sleep

Hold ye the boughs,

Hold ye the boughs.

 

Infant so tender,

Jesus distressed

With earthly weeping now

Wishes for rest.

Sleep let all cumber

Who live in this house,

So he might slumber

Hold ye the boughs,

Hold ye the boughs.

 

Frost airs are round Him,

Chilling His breath:

I cannot keep Him

From shadows of death.

Angels so holy now

Over Him drowse

So all babes might sleep

Hold ye the boughs

Hold ye the boughs.