Masters In This Hall - Mormon Tabernacle Choir, Orchestra at Temple Square, Craig Jessop

Masters In This Hall - Mormon Tabernacle Choir, Orchestra at Temple Square, Craig Jessop

Год
1999
Язык
`Angļu`
Длительность
211740

Zemāk ir dziesmas vārdi Masters In This Hall , izpildītājs - Mormon Tabernacle Choir, Orchestra at Temple Square, Craig Jessop ar tulkojumu

Dziesmas vārdi " Masters In This Hall "

Oriģinālteksts ar tulkojumu

Masters In This Hall

Mormon Tabernacle Choir, Orchestra at Temple Square, Craig Jessop

Masters in this Hall,

Hear ye news to-day

Brought from over sea,

And ever I you pray:

Going o’er the hills,

Through the milk-white snow,

Heard I ewes bleat

While the wind did blow!

Nowell!

Nowell!

Nowell!

Nowell, sing we cheer

Holpen are all folk on earth,

Born is God’s son so dear:

Nowell!

Nowell!

Nowell!

Nowell, sing we loud

God to-day hath poor folk raised

And cast a-down the proud.

Shepherds many a one

Sat among the sheep,

No man spake more word

Than they had been asleep.

Quoth I, «Fellows mine,

Why this guise sit ye?

Making but dull cheer,

Shepherds though ye be?»

Nowell!

Nowell!

Nowell!

Nowell, sing we cheer

Holpen are all folk on earth,

Born is God’s son so dear:

Nowell!

Nowell!

Nowell!

Nowell, sing we loud

God to-day hath poor folk raised

And cast a-down the proud.

«Shepherds should of right

Leap and dance and sing,

Thus to see ye sit,

Is a right strange thing.»

Quoth these fellows then,

«To Bethlem town we go,

To see a mighty lord

Lie in manger low.»

Nowell!

Nowell!

Nowell!

Nowell, sing we cheer

Holpen are all folk on earth,

Born is God’s son so dear:

Nowell!

Nowell!

Nowell!

Nowell, sing we loud

God to-day hath poor folk raised

And cast a-down the proud.

Ox and ass him know,

Kneeling on their knee,

Wondrous joy had I

This little babe to see:

This is Christ the Lord,

Masters be ye glad!

Christmas is come in,

And no folk should be sad.

Nowell!

Nowell!

Nowell!

Nowell, sing we cheer

Holpen are all folk on earth,

Born is God’s son so dear:

Nowell!

Nowell!

Nowell!

Nowell, sing we loud

God to-day hath poor folk raised

And cast a-down the proud.

Nowell!

Nowell!

God to-day hath poor folk raised

And cast a-down the proud.

Nowell!

Nowell!

Nowell!

Nowell!

Nowell!

Nowell!

Nowell!

Nowell!

Nowell!

God to-day hath poor folk raised

And cast a-down the proud

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