The Home Book of Verse
Chapter 19 : Hus.h.!.+ my dear, lie still and slumber, Holy angels guard thy bed!Heavenly blessings

Hus.h.!.+ my dear, lie still and slumber, Holy angels guard thy bed!

Heavenly blessings without number Gently falling on thy head.

Sleep, my babe; thy food and raiment, House and home, thy friends provide; All without thy care or payment: All thy wants are well supplied.

How much better thou'rt attended Than the Son of G.o.d could be, When from heaven He descended And became a child like thee!

Soft and easy is thy cradle: Coa.r.s.e and hard thy Saviour lay, When His birthplace was a stable And His softest bed was hay.

Blessed babe! what glorious features-- Spotless fair, divinely bright!

Must He dwell with brutal creatures?

How could angels bear the sight?

Was there nothing but a manger Cursed sinners could afford To receive the heavenly stranger?

Did they thus affront their Lord?

Soft, my child: I did not chide thee, Though my song might sound too hard; 'Tis thy mother sits beside thee, And her arms shall be thy guard.

Yet to read the shameful story How the Jews abused their King, How they served 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 hushed 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 anear thy bed.

'Twas to save thee, child, from dying, Save my dear from burning flame, Bitter groans and endless crying, That thy blest Redeemer came.

May'st thou live to know and fear Him, Trust and love Him all thy days; Then go dwell forever near Him, See His face, and sing His praise!

Isaac Watts [1674-1748]

CRADLE SONG

Sleep, sleep, beauty bright, Dreaming in the joys of night; Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep Little sorrows sit and weep.

Sweet babe, in thy face Soft desires I can trace, Secret joys and secret smiles, Little pretty infant wiles.

As thy softest limbs I feel Smiles as of the morning steal O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast Where thy little heart doth rest.

O the cunning wiles that creep In thy little heart asleep!

When thy little heart doth wake, Then the dreadful night shall break.

William Blake [1757-1827]

LULLABY

Baloo, loo, lammy, now baloo, my dear, Does wee lammy ken that its daddy's no here?

Ye're rocking full sweetly on mammy's warm knee, But daddy's a-rocking upon the salt sea.

Now hushaby, lammy, now hushaby, dear; Now hushaby, lammy, for mother is near.

The wild wind is raving, and mammy's heart's sair; The wild wind is raving, and ye dinna care.

Sing baloo, loo, lammy, sing baloo, my dear; Sing baloo, loo, lammy, for mother is here.

My wee bairnie's dozing, it's dozing now fine, And O may its wakening be blither than mine!

Carolina Nairne [1763-1845]

LULLABY OF AN INFANT CHIEF

O, hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight, Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright; The woods and the glens, from the towers which we see, They are all belonging, dear babie, to thee.

O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo.

O, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows, It calls but the warders that guard thy repose; Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red, Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed.

O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo.

O, hush thee, my babie, the time soon will come, When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum; Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may, For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day.

O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo.

Walter Scott [1771-1832]

GOOD-NIGHT

Little baby, lay your head On your pretty cradle-bed; Shut your eye-peeps, now the day And the light are gone away; All the clothes are tucked in tight; Little baby dear, good-night.

Yes, my darling, well I know How the bitter wind doth blow; And the winter's snow and rain Patter on the window-pane: But they cannot come in here, To my little baby dear;

For the window shutteth fast, Till the stormy night is past; And the curtains warm are spread Round about her cradle bed: So till morning s.h.i.+neth bright, Little baby dear, good-night.

Jane Taylor [1783-1824]

"LULLABY, O LULLABY"