HUSH, my babe, lie still and slumber,
Holy angels guard thy bed,
Heavenly blessings without number
Gently falling on thy head.
How much better thou'rt attended
Than thy Saviour chose to be,
When from heaven He descended,
And became a child like thee.
Soft and easy is thy cradle,
Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay;
For His birthplace was a stable,
And His softest bed was hay.
Was there nothing but a manger,
Hapless sinners could afford
To receive the heavenly Stranger,
Their Redeemer and their Lord ?
See, the humble shepherds.round Him
Gaze with mingled love and fear;
Where they sought Him, there they found Him,
With His Virgin Mother near
Lo, He slumbers in His manger,
Where the horned oxen feed;
Peace, my darling, here's no danger,
Here no ox is near thy bed.
'Twas to save thee, child, from dying,
From the ever-burning flame,
Bitter groans and endless crying,
That this holy Infant came.
May'st thou live to know and fear Him,
Trust and love Him all thy days,
Then to dwell forever near Him,
See His face, and sing His praise.
~ Greetings to the Christ Child, 1879 ~