Saturday, January 7, 2012

Dr. Watt's Cradle Hymn from The New England Primer

Hush 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 supply'd.

 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 birth-place 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,
tho' my song may 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 abus'd their King, 

How they serv'd the Lord of glory,
makes me angry while, I sing.

 See the kinder shepherds round him,
telling wonders from the sky;

 There they sought him, there they found him,
with his Virgin Mother by.

 See the lovely Babe a dreaming;
lovely Infant how he smil'd !

 When he wept, the Mother's blessing
sooth'd 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 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,
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 aspire. 

The New England Primer
1777 Edition

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