Unique Word Count: 191
Music composed by: Seán Óg Ó Tuama
Words written by: Seán Óg Ó Tuama
Lyrics:
Ghluais an dís araon go Beithil,
Seosamh aosta is an mhaighdean déad-gheal,
Ach diúltadh iad gach áit fá lóistín,
Mar bhí siad bocht sa bhaile mhór sin.
Shiúil siad suas is anuas gur thárla,
Don lánúin truaigh go bhfuair siad stábla,
Chuaigh isteach an bhanríon naofa,
Agus insan ionad sin rugadh Íosa.
Ghléas go héascaidh an mháthair mhómhar,
Giobail ghlana ar an leanbh ghlórmhar,
Nach díblí an áit a dtárla an rí seo,
Ar a chéad chuairt d’fhuascladh an tsaoil seo.
D’fhág sé áras an Athar ba tréine,
Agus guth na milliún aingeal béilbhinn,
Dochtúir óg a tháinig d’ár dtárrtháil,
Is ar phrionsa ifrinn ár n-anam a shábháil.
Bhí an oíche fuar, monuar, gan dídean,
Ag leanbh na glóire agus ag an óigh fhíor-ghlan,
Ach leag sí é i mainséar suarach,
Sínte idir dhamh agus asal gruama.
Tráth mhothaigh an t-asal boladh na ngrásta,
Agus fuair a chruthaitheoir aige sa stábla,
D’ardaigh a ghuth agus thit ar a ghlúnaibh,
Is d’adhraigh an leanbh ba soineanta clúiteach.
Tháinig slua aingeal anuas le scéala,
Go dtáinig an Mac a thuill gean Shíl Éabha,
Chan do lucht óir nó stóir nó séada,
Ach do lucht faire bhí ag coimhéad a dtréadann.
“A dhaoine bochta,” arsa an t-aingeal glórmhar,
“Má tá sibh gan charaid is sona bhur bhfómhar,
Gheobhaidh sibh beirthe é i mBeithil i stábla,
An leanbh a d’fhoscail díbh geataí na ngrásta.”
Tháinig trí rí ó éirí na gréine,
Le fáilte chur roimhe, le treorú réalta,
Trí séada scéimheacha rinne siad d’iompar,
Le bronnadh ar Shonas na Cruinne sa mhainséar.
Ór le cruthú gur rí ba tréine é,
Miorr le dearbhú gur glan ina mhéin é,
Túis le cruthú, dá ndéantaí de píosaí,
Go mairfeadh a cholainn-sean slán go síoraí.
Translation:
The two moved onwards together to Bethlehem,
Aged Joseph and the beautiful maiden,
But they were refused lodging every place,
Because they were poor in that big town.
They walked up and down until it chanced,
That the pitiable couple found a stable,
The holy queen went inside,
And in that place Jesus was born.
The graceful mother quickly dressed,
The glorious child in clean clothes,
It was a wretched place for the king to find himself,
On his first visit to rescue this world.
He left the hall of the mightiest Father,
And the sweet voices of millions of angels,
The young sage who came to save us,
And to rescue our souls from the prince of hell.
The night was cold; alas, there was no shelter,
For the glorious child or for the pure virgin,
But she laid him in the miserly manger,
Between an ox and a grumpy donkey.
When the donkey got the smell of grace,
And found his creator before him in his stable,
He raised up his voice and fell down on his knees,
And worshiped the innocent renowned child.
A host of angels came down from on high with news,
That the Son who deserved the love of the Descendents of Eve had come,
Not to those with gold or wealth or jewels,
But to shepherds who were guarding their flocks.
“Poor people,” said the glorious angel,
“If you are without friends, still your harvest is joyous,
You will find him born in a stable in Bethlehem,
The child who has opened the gates of grace for you.”
Three kings came from where the sun rises,
To welcome him, by the guidance of a star,
They carried with them three beautiful jewels,
To give to the Joy of the World in the manger.
Gold to show that he was the strongest of kings,
Myrrh to prove that he was pure in his mind,
Incense to show, even if he were cut into pieces,
That his body would survive forever.