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Husn! my dear, lie still and slumber,
Holy angels guard thy bed;
Gently falling on thy head.
House and home, thy friends provide
All thy wants are well supplied.
Soft and easy is thy cradle ;
Coarse 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 !
How could angels bear the sight?
Was there nothing but a manger,
Cursèd sinners could afford,
Did they thus affront the 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 KingHow 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 hush'd the Holy Child.
ILLUSTRATED POETRY BOOK.
Lo! he slumbers in the manger,
Where the horned oxen fed ! Peace, my darling, here's no danger,
There's no oxen 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. Mayst thou live to know and fear Him,
Trust and love Him all thy days; Then
dwell for ever near him,
I could give thee thousand kisses,
Hoping what I most desire; Not a mother's fondest wishes
Can to greater joys aspire.
THE BLIND BOY.
OI SAY, what is that thing call'd light,
Which I must ne'er enjoy ;
Oh tell your poor blind boy !
You say the sun shines bright;
Or make it day or night?
Whene'er I sleep or play ;
With me 'twere always day. With heavy sighs I often hear
You mourn my hapless woe; But sure with patience I can bear,
A loss I ne'er can know.
Then let not what I cannot have,
My cheer of mind destroy, Wbilst thus I sing, I am a king,
Although a poor blind boy.