God rest you, Chrysten gentil men, <br /> Wherever you may be,-- <br />God rest you all in fielde or hall, <br /> Or on ye stormy sea; <br />For on this morn oure Chryst is born <br /> That saveth you and me. <br /> <br />Last night ye shepherds in ye east <br /> Saw many a wondrous thing; <br />Ye sky last night flamed passing bright <br /> Whiles that ye stars did sing, <br />And angels came to bless ye name <br /> Of Jesus Chryst, oure Kyng. <br /> <br />God rest you, Chrysten gentil men, <br /> Faring where'er you may; <br />In noblesse court do thou no sport, <br /> In tournament no playe, <br />In paynim lands hold thou thy hands <br /> From bloudy works this daye. <br /> <br />But thinking on ye gentil Lord <br /> That died upon ye tree, <br />Let troublings cease and deeds of peace <br /> Abound in Chrystantie; <br />For on this morn ye Chryst is born <br /> That saveth you and me.<br /><br />Eugene Field<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/chrystmasse-of-olde/
