Winds through the olive trees
Softly did blow,
Round little Bethlehem
Long, long ago.
Sheep on the hillside lay
Whiter than snow;
Shepherds were watching them,
Long, long ago.
Then from the happy sky,
Angels bent low,
Singing their songs of joy,
Long, long ago.
For in a manger bed,
Cradled we know,
Christ came to Bethlehem,
Long, long ago. |
