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.