The holly and the ivy, when they are both full grown,
Of all the trees that are in the wood, the holly bears the crown.

The rising of the sun, and the running of the deer,
The playing of the merry organ, sweet singing in the choir.

The holly bears a blossom, as white as lily flow'r,
And in our hearts we bear pure hope, and sing every hour.

The holly bears a berry, as red as any rose,
And in our hearts we bear a flame of life, and with hope it grows.

The holly bears a prickle, as sharp as any thorn,
And our skin bears the sun's sharp rays, bringing life this Solstice morn.