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O, they will thrust, Mother, my head from my hair, With a crown of thorns they will me not spare, And with sharp spears my heart will tear, To the Gloria tibi Domine.
Now sing we, &c. O come you here, Mother, and you shall see My hands and my feet nailed to the rood tree, And my feet, Mother, are fastned thereby, A vile sight, Mother, for you to see.
Now sing we, and now sing we,
To the Gloria tibi Domine.
And now sing we more or less,
And welcome be this merry Christmas. |
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JOSEPH WAS AN OLD MAN.
Joseph was an old man, And an old man was he,
When he wedded Mary In the land of Galilee.
Joseph and Mary walked Through an orchard good,
Where was cherries and berries So red as any blood. |
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