. Illustrated songs and hymns for the little ones. ON SEEING THE BIBLE SOCIETYSNEW COLLECTING BOX. It must have been sweet musicThat woke the still starlight, When angels sang of Jesus,On the first Christmas night. And now the gracious messageBy men is borne to men; A child may swell the chorusThat angels joined in then. r. p. 10(3 1 A CRADLE HYMN. Hush ! my dear, lie still and slumber, J 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; t All without thy care or payment, Al
. Illustrated songs and hymns for the little ones. ON SEEING THE BIBLE SOCIETYSNEW COLLECTING BOX. It must have been sweet musicThat woke the still starlight, When angels sang of Jesus,On the first Christmas night. And now the gracious messageBy men is borne to men; A child may swell the chorusThat angels joined in then. r. p. 10(3 1 A CRADLE HYMN. Hush ! my dear, lie still and slumber, J 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; t All without thy care or payment, All thy wants are well supplied. How much better thourt attended i 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 the Saviour lay, When His birth-place was a stable, And His softest bed was hay. 1 t rSii^J^ Life d. 108 A CRADLE HYMN. Blessed babe ! what glorious features,Spotless, fair, divinely bright! Must He dwell with brutal creatures ?How could angels bear the sight? Lo, He slumbers in His manger, Where the hornd oxen fed ;Peace, ray darling, heres no danger, Heres no ox a-near thy bed. Twas to save thee, child, from dying,Save my dear from endless 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 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 mothers fondest wishes Can to greater joys aspire! WATTS. 109
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1850, booksubjectchristi, bookyear1858
