’Twas in the Moon of Wintertime

’Twas in the moon of win­ter­time

When all the birds had fled

That migh­ty Git­chi Ma­ni­tou

Sent an­gel choirs in­stead;

Before their light the stars grew dim

And won­der­ing hunt­ers heard the hymn:

Jesus your king is born

Jesus is born

In ex­cel­sis glor­ia.

Within a lodge of brok­en bark

The ten­der babe was found

A rag­ged robe of rab­bit skin

Enwrapped His beau­ty round;

But as the hunt­er braves drew nigh

The an­gel song rang loud and high:

The ear­li­est moon of win­ter­time

Is not so round and fair

As was the ring of glo­ry on

The help­less In­fant there.

The chiefs from far be­fore Him knelt

With gifts of fox and bea­ver pelt.

O child­ren of the for­est free

O seed of Ma­ni­tou

The ho­ly Child of earth and Heav’n

Is born to­day for you.

Come kneel before the ra­di­ant Boy

Who brings you beau­ty

peace and joy.