A Cradle Hymn

Isaac Watts (1674–1748)

Abbreviated from the Original

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 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.

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-dressing;

Lovely infant, how he smiled!

When he wept, the mother’s blessing

Soothed and hushed the holy Child.

Lo, he slumbers in his manger,

Where the hornèd oxen feed;

Peace, my darling, here ’s no danger,

Here ’s no ox anear thy bed.

Mayst thou live to know and fear him,

Trust and love him all thy days;

Then go dwell forever 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.