The holly and the ivy
When they are both full grown
Of all the trees that are in the wood
The holly bears the crown.
Oh, the rising of the sun
And the running of the deer
The shining of the winter stars
As the longer days draw near.
The holly bears a blossom
As white as any flower
As our Mother bears the infant Sun
In the winter's darkest hour.
The holly bears a berry
As red as any blood
As our Father bears the hunter's spear
for His hungry children's good.
The holly bears a prickle
As sharp as any thorn
As we shall bear our song of hope
On triumphant Yuletide morn.