Blessed are we, who live in His Majesty,
As death comes, and vivid leaves fallen,
And we rise to His glory-once again!
Blessed are we, descendants of nobility,
When darkest night enters on satin feet,
And in hallowed luster, again we meet!
Blessed are we, to bask in love's purity,
His greatest of caring, forever been,
Giving fields of spring, how very green!
And fragrant flower, deepest red rose,
And dulcet bowers, where robin goes,
And beauty's many shades of subtleness.
So, warning bell causes no distress.
For The Watchman never sleeps,
He hears our prayers;
Our time He keeps.
Blessed be the child of Christmas morn;
Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn!