In the bleak midwinter frosty winds made moan.
Earth stood hard as iron. Water like a stone.
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there.
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air.
But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb.
If I were a wise man, I would do my part.
Yet what can I give Him? Give my heart.

Give my heart.
Give my heart.
Give my heart.
Give my heart.