What Child is This?

One of my favorite Christmas hymns is “What Child is This,” written by William Chatterton Dix (1837–1898). Dix was a layman, not a pastor or even a professional poet. In fact, he was a marine insurance salesman in Glasgow, Scotland. He first started writing hymns while bedridden due to illness, and he ended up writing more than 40, including another of my favorites, the Epiphany hymn “As with Gladness Men of Old” (1).  Dix wrote the lyrics to “What Child is This” in 1865, and only six years later his text was published in Christmas Carols New and Old, set to the traditional English folk tune Greensleeves, in a hymn setting by Sir John Stainer (2).

Greensleeves has been around for a long time—the first time it appeared in print was in 1580, but it was likely composed long before. One tradition says that King Henry VIII composed the tune, but there is no proof of this. Another tradition says that Queen Elizabeth danced to the tune, which is likely—it was a popular tune, written in a dance meter, and no doubt performed at a much sprightlier tempo than we employ when singing “What Child is This” (3).

Throughout the decades, many different sets of lyrics were written to accompany this popular tune, sometimes bawdy, sometimes political. Shakespeare references the tune twice in his comedy The Merry Wives of Windsor (first published in 1602, though probably written before 1597); in Act Two, Mistress Ford says of Falstaff, "I would have sworn his disposition would have gone to the truth of his words; but they do no more adhere and keep place together than the Hundredth Psalm to the tune of 'Green Sleeves'"—indicating that in Shakespeare’s day, Greensleeves was only associated with “inappropriate” lyrics. But melodies, having no inherent meaning, are fluid, and as early as 1642 the tune was used for a carol, “The Old Year Now is Fled,” published in London in New Christmas Carols (4).

I’ll admit that I have trouble picturing Queen Elizabeth kicking up her heels to the tune of “What Child is This,” especially as I am at this moment listening to Dave Brubeck’s meditative, melancholy, and at times discordant, piano rendition of the modally-minor tune . . . music is wonderfully fluid, as we have experienced here in Papua New Guinea as well!  (Find a recording of Ralph Vaughan William’s gorgeous Fantasia on Greensleeves—there are many on YouTube—for a beautiful instrumental rendition of this traditional melody.)

Here is William Dix’s song text: 

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 Christian, 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 the song on high, the virgin sings her lullaby:

Joy, joy for Christ is born, the babe, the son of Mary.

The hymn begins by asking about the true identity of the child in the Nativity scene—this puzzling child greeted by angels, watched over by shepherds, lying with animals— and tells us that this newborn baby without the ability to speak is, paradoxically, the “Word,” “silently” pleading from the manger for sinners even today.

I love how Dix’s words are complemented so beautifully by the tune chosen to accompany them. The melody reaches its highest pitch—and generally its loudest and most forceful note—at the beginning of the third line. In the first verse, the pitch and volume give a triumphant force to the victorious line “This, this is Christ the King”—but in the second verse, Dix surprises us at the peak of the melody with “Nails, spear, shall pierce him through, the cross be borne for me, for you”—definitely not a typical image in the Nativity scene. The accompanying artwork in the original 1871 hymn book (see above) illustrates this jarring juxtaposition—we see not only the cherubic baby gazing up at his mother from the manger, but also nails, the crown of thorns, a scourge, the vinegar-soaked sponge, and a spear. It is horrifying to think of the flesh of this innocent babe being pierced with nails, but we cannot truly celebrate Christmas without this awareness. This hymn does not shy away from the true reason Jesus came to earth, to die “for me, for you”—the answer to the question posed in the opening line of the hymn.

Finally, the third verse invites us to join the Magi (the first Gentiles to worship the incarnate Christ) in adoring Him, no matter what our social status may be; echoing Jesus’ admonition that His Kingdom “is not of this world” (John 18:36), the hymn text encourages us to enthrone Christ as King in our hearts. The song ends with a call to rejoice, having reminded us of both Christ’s birth and His sacrifice.

Puzzlingly, most hymnals have changed Dix’s original lyrics and replaced the last two lines of verses 2 and 3 with the last two lines of verse 1, so that all three verses end the same way, and the answer to the question posed in the opening line is left incomplete. Our family loves to sing hymns together, and we’ve collected copies of several hymnals over the years; we have 7 different hymnal titles, and in only one of those 7 are Dix’s original lyrics reproduced (it’s the Trinity Hymnal, Revised Edition, by Great Commission Publications, 1990).

This isn’t the only Christmas hymn that tells the “whole story”—some of our other family favorites are “Thou Didst Leave Thy Throne,” “We Three Kings,” and especially “O Sing a Song of Bethlehem.” Just be sure to sing all the verses!