Oh, Joseph was an old man,
Yes, an old man was he:
He married sweet Mary,
The Queen of Galilee.
And as they went a-walking,
In the garden so gay,
Maid Mary spied cherries,
Hanging over yon tree.
Then Mary said to Joseph,
With her sweet lips so mild,
“Please pluck those cherries, Joseph,
For to give to my child.”
“O then,” replied Joseph,
With these words so unkind:
“I will pluck no cherries
For to give to thy Child.”
So Mary said to cherry tree,
“Bow down to my knee,
That I may pluck cherries
By one, two, and three.”
The uppermost sprig then
Bowed down to her knee:
“Thus you may see, Joseph,
These cherries are for me.”
“O eat your cherries, Mary,
O eat your cherries now,
O eat your cherries, Mary,
That grow upon the bough.”
As Joseph went a-walking,
He heard Angels sing,
This night there shall be born
Our heavenly King.
“He neither shall be born
In house nor in hall,
Nor in the place of Paradise,
But in an ox-stall.”
“He shall not be clothed
In purple nor pall;
But all in fair linen,
As wear babies all.”
“He shall not be rocked,
In silver nor gold,
But in a wooden cradle
That rocks on the mould.”
“He neither shall be christened
In milk nor in wine,
But in pure spring-well water
Fresh sprung from Bethine.”
Then Mary took her Baby,
And she dressed Him so sweet,
She laid Him in a manger
All there for to sleep.
And as she stood over Him,
She heard Angels sing:
“Oh! bless our dear Savior,
Our heavenly King.”