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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.

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, 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 King, How 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

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 fed;
Peace, my darling; here's no danger,
Here's no ox anear thy bed.

'T was 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;
go dwell forever near Him,
See His face, and sing His praise.


Isaac Watts


ERE the moon begins to rise
Or a star to shine,

All the blue bells close their

So close thine,

Thine, dear, thine!


Birds are sleeping in the nest
On the swaying bough,
Thus, against the mother-breast

So sleep thou,

Sleep, sleep, thou!

Thomas Bailey Aldrich


SLEEP, baby, sleep!

Thy father watches the sheep;

Thy mother is shaking the dream-land tree, And down falls a little dream on thee:

Sleep, baby, sleep!

Sleep, baby, sleep!

The large stars are the sheep,

The little stars are the lambs I


The fair moon is the shepherdess:

Sleep, baby, sleep!



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SLEEP, little pigeon, and fold your wings,
Little blue pigeon with velvet eyes;
Sleep to the singing of mother-bird swing-

Swinging the nest where her little one lies.

Away out yonder I see a star,

Silvery star with a tinkling song ;
To the soft dew falling I hear it calling-
Calling and tinkling the night along.

In through the window a moonbeam


Little gold moonbeam with misty wings; All silently creeping, it asks: "Is he sleeping

Sleeping and dreaming while mother sings?"

Up from the sea there floats the sob

Of the waves that are breaking upon the


As though they were groaning in anguish, and moaning

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Bemoaning the ship that shall come no


But sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings,

Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes; Am I not singing? - see, I am swinging

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Swinging the nest where my darling


Eugene Field


THE days are cold, the nights are long;
The north-wind sings a doleful song;
Then hush again upon my breast,
All merry things are now at rest,
Save thee, my pretty love!

The kitten sleeps upon the hearth,
The crickets long have ceased their mirth;
There's nothing stirring in the house
Save one wee, hungry, nibbling mouse;
Then why so busy thou?

Nay, start not at that sparkling light;
'Tis but the moon that shines so bright
On the window-pane bedropped with rain;
Then, little darling! sleep again,

And wake when it is day.

Dorothy Wordsworth

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