HUSH! my dear, lie still and slumber,
Holy angels guard thy bed!
Gently falling on thy head.
Sleep, my babe; thy food and raiment,
House and home, thy friends provide;
All without thy care or payment:
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 Saviour lay,
When His birthplace was a stable
And His softest bed was hay.
Blessèd babe! what glorious features-
Spotless fair, divinely bright!
He dwell with brutal creatures?
How could angels bear the sight?
Was there nothing but a manger
Cursèd sinners could afford
To receive the heavenly
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,
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,
me angry while I sing.
See the kinder shepherds round Him,
Telling wonders from
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,
the hornèd oxen fed:
Peace, my darling; here 's no danger,
Here 's no ox anear thy
'Twas to save thee, child, from dying,
Save my dear from burning flame,
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 for ever near Him,
His face, and sing His praise!
[Isaac Watts. 1674-1748]