Read "Chrystmasse of Olde" by Eugene Field online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
God rest you, Chrysten gentil men, / Wherever you may be, -- / God rest you all in fielde or hall, / Or on ye stormy sea; / For on this morn oure Chryst is born / That saveth you and me.
Last night ye shepherds in ye east / Saw many a wondrous thing; / Ye sky last night flamed passing bright / Whiles that ye stars did sing, / And angels came to bless ye name / Of Jesus Chryst, oure Kyng.
God rest you, Chrysten gentil men, / Faring where'er you may; / In noblesse court do thou no sport, / In tournament no playe, / In paynim lands hold thou thy hands / From bloudy works this daye.
But thinking on ye gentil Lord / That died upon ye tree, / Let troublings cease and deeds of peace / Abound in Chrystantie; / For on this morn ye Chryst is born / That saveth you and me.