HUSH! my dear, lie still and slumber, Sleep, my babe; thy food and raiment, 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! Was there nothing but a manger, Soft, my child, I did not chide thee, Yet to read the shameful story, How the Jews abused their King— See the kinder shepherds round Him, Where they sought him, there they found Him. See the lovely babe a-dressing, Soothed and hush'd the Holy Child. ILLUSTRATED POETRY BOOK. Lo! he slumbers in the manger, Where the hornèd oxen fed! Peace, my darling, here's no danger, 'Twas to save thee, child, from dying, Mayst thou live to know and fear Him, See His face, and sing His praise. I could give thee thousand kisses, WATTS. 9 THE BLIND BOY. OH SAY, what is that thing call'd light, What are the blessings then of sight,— You talk of wondrous things you see, My day or night myself I make, With heavy sighs I often hear Then let not what I cannot have, CIBBER. |