Cradle Hymn

Isaac Watts from Repository of Sacred Music, Part Second,
Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber, Holy angels guard thy bed,
Heav n’ly blessings with out number, Gently falling on thy head.
Sleep, my babe; thy food and raiment, House and home, thy friends provide;
All with out thy care or pay ment: All thy wants are well supplied.

How much better thou’rt attended, Than the Son of God could be,
When from Heaven He descended, And became a child like thee!
Soft and easy is thy cradle, Coarse and hard thy Savior lay:
When His birth place was a stable, And His softest bed washay.

Blessed babe! what glorious features— Spotless fair, divinely bright!
Must He dwell with brutal creatures? How could angels bear the sight?
Was there nothing butamanger Cursed sinners could afford
To receive the heav’nly Stranger? Did they thus affront their Lord?

Soft, my child, I did not chide thee, Though my song may seem too hard;
’Tis thy mother sits beside thee, And her arms shall be thy guard.
Yet to tell the shameful story, How His foes a bused their King;
How they killed the Lord of glory, Makes me angry while I sing.

See the kinder shepherds round Him, Telling wonders from the sky!
Where they sought Him, there they found Him, With His Virgin mother by.
See the lovely Babe a dressing; Lovely infant, how He smiled!
When He wept, the mother’s blessing Soothed and hush’d the holy Child.

Lo, He slumbers in His manger, Where the horned oxen fed:
Peace, my darling; here’s no danger, Here’s no ox a near thy bed.
’Twas to save thee, child, from dying, Save my dear from burning flame,
Bitter groans and endless crying, That thy blest Redeemercame.

Mayst thou live to know and fear him, Trust and love him all thy days;
Then go dwell for ever near him, See his face and sing his praise!
I could give thee thousand kisses, Hoping what I most desire;
Not a mother’s fondest wishes Can to greater joys a spire.