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Description
The Sun departs, the winds, they howl, this year does near its end,
The world awaits the coming year, and the trials it will send.
While every winter hounds us, its cloak of snow surrounds us,
Each bell of every hall and every place of worship lauds us.
For we saw our year through from the beginning to its end,
And we await the next year, and the trials it will send.

In ages past, in aeons gone, thousands of years ago,
The ancient Yuletide festival would watch the dying year go.
And they would give their thanks for a bountiful September,
And look to Odin's protection to see out bleak December.

Two thousand and ten years ago, a sacred child was born,
To face a world of sorrow, that long since had been rent and torn.
It is thanks to Him we pray that through love and charity,
That from a world of darkness, we can from ourselves be set free.

Years did pass - none know how many; until at last, one day,
A man named Nicholas heard three impoverished women pray
For salvation from financial woe; the three wished to wed,
With sighs they hung their stockings; with eyes downcast, they went to bed.
Into their house, Nicholas crept, with bags of gold to spare,
The women woke to don their stockings and riches they found there.

It is thanks to Nicholas the Saint for the gifts we give
To all our friends and loved ones, and all others with whom we live.
And as we turn in and await the morn, our dreams take flight.
A Merry Christmas to us all, and to all of us goodnight.

Description
The Sun departs, the winds, they howl, this year does near its end,
The world awaits the coming year, and the trials it will send.
While every winter hounds us, its cloak of snow surrounds us,
Each bell of every hall and every place of worship lauds us.
For we saw our year through from the beginning to its end,
And we await the next year, and the trials it will send.

In ages past, in aeons gone, thousands of years ago,
The ancient Yuletide festival would watch the dying year go.
And they would give their thanks for a bountiful September,
And look to Odin's protection to see out bleak December.

Two thousand and ten years ago, a sacred child was born,
To face a world of sorrow, that long since had been rent and torn.
It is thanks to Him we pray that through love and charity,
That from a world of darkness, we can from ourselves be set free.

Years did pass - none know how many; until at last, one day,
A man named Nicholas heard three impoverished women pray
For salvation from financial woe; the three wished to wed,
With sighs they hung their stockings; with eyes downcast, they went to bed.
Into their house, Nicholas crept, with bags of gold to spare,
The women woke to don their stockings and riches they found there.

It is thanks to Nicholas the Saint for the gifts we give
To all our friends and loved ones, and all others with whom we live.
And as we turn in and await the morn, our dreams take flight.
A Merry Christmas to us all, and to all of us goodnight.