What Child Is This
“What child is this who, laid to rest, on Mary’s lap is sleeping?’ is the beginning of a favorite Christmas carol. The words to “What Child Is This” are relatively modern, and were written in 1865 by William Chatterton Dix. They were first printed in “Christmas Carols New and Old,” put together by Henry Ramsden Bramley and John Stainer and published by Novello, Ewer and Company in London in 1871.
William Chatterton Dix was a devout man who expressed his beliefs in his writing. He was born in Bristol, England in 1837. His father, a surgeon, was also a poet and writer, and William inherited a love of poetry from him. At the age of twenty-nine William became very ill and nearly died, and it was then that he began to write devotional poems and songs. He continued to write, and many of his works, including “What Child Is This” and “Alleluia! Sing to Jesus” are still sung today. “What Child Is This” is taken from a poem called “The Manger Throne,” which begins with the beautiful line “Like silver lamps in a distant shrine.” William died in 1898 in Cheddar, England, and is buried in the parish church there.
The music to “What Child Is This” is much older than the words. It dates back to the sixteenth century, and was the tune to a song called “Greensleeves.” There are references to it in song lyrics printed in 1584 and there are also references to it in Shakespeare’s “The Merry Wives of Windsor.” It’s often said that Henry the Eighth wrote the music and words to “Greensleeves” for Ann Boleyn, but there is no evidence of this. In all probability, the tune dates from the 1580’s.
The haunting beauty of “What Child Is This” certainly enriches the Christmas season.
What Child Is This
What Child is this who, laid to rest
On Mary’s lap is sleeping?
Whom Angels greet with anthems sweet,
While shepherds watch are keeping?
This, this is Christ the King,
Whom shepherds guard and Angels sing;
Haste, haste, to bring Him laud,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.
Why lies He in such mean estate,
Where ox and ass are feeding?
Good Christians, fear, for sinners here
The silent Word is pleading.
Nails, spear shall pierce Him through,
The cross be borne for me, for you.
Hail, hail the Word made flesh,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.
So bring Him incense, gold and myrrh,
Come peasant, king to own Him;
The King of kings salvation brings,
Let loving hearts enthrone Him.
Raise, raise a song on high,
The virgin sings her lullaby.
Joy, joy for Christ is born,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.
