'Twas in the moon of wintertime, when all the birds had fled,
The mighty Creator of all sent spirit-choirs instea;
Before their light the stars grew dim,
And wandering hunters heard the hymn;
Jesus High Chief is born, Jesus is born, in excelsis gloria.
Within a lodge of sturdy bark the tender Babe was found;
A simple robe of rabbit skins enwrapped his beauty round,
For as the hunting men drew near,
the Spirit's drums rang loud and clear!
Jesus High Chief is born, Jesus is born, in excelsis gloria.
The earliest moon of wintertime is not so round and fair
As was the ring of glory on the helpless infant there.
Great chiefs from far before him knelt
With gifts of fox and beaver-pelt.
Jesus High Chief is born, Jesus is born, in excelsis gloria.
O children of the forest free, who dwell beneath the sun,
The holy Child of earth and sky has come to make you one.
Come kneel before the radiant boy,
Who brings you beauty, peace and joy.
Jesus High Chief is born, Jesus is born, in excelsis gloria.
Happy winter solstice.
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