Masters in this hall, hear ye news today.
Brought from over the sea and ever I you pray.
Nowell, nowell, nowell, nowell sing we clear!
Holpen are all folk on Earth, born is God's Son so dear!
Nowell, nowell, nowell, nowell sing we loud!
God today hath poor folk raised and cast a-down the proud.
Going o'er the hills, through the milk-white snow,
Heard I ewes bleat, while the wind did blow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem