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Conventry Carol King Without a Mountain

Lullay, lully, thou little tiny child,
Bye, bye, lullay, lully.
Now woe is me, poor child for thee,
I ever mourn and sign.

O sisters too, how may we do,
For to preserve this day
This poor youngling for whom we sing
Bye, bye, lullay, lully.

Herod, the king, in his raging,
Charged he hath this day
His men of might, in his own sight,
All young children to slay.

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Here the royal cataclysm,
Herod in his raging.
Merciless, swift ambition,
None to him worth saving.

Can you hear the childless mothers say?
'Martyred, murdered, how hast thou been slain?'

Here a King without a mountain,
No chariot to come to him.
Lean in close now and listen,
'Prepare the golden diadem.'

And I hear the child's mother say,
Nearer, clearer, 'Thou hast come to reign.'