Hush my dear, lie still and slumber,
Holy angels guard thy bed!
Heavenly blessings without number
Softly falling on thy head.

Sleep my dear; thy food and raiment,
Home and hearth thy friends provide;
All without thy care or payment,
All thy wants are well supplied.

How much better thou art tended
Than the Son of God could be,
When from Heaven he descended
And became a child like thee!

Soft and easy is thy cradle,
Cold and hard thy Saviour lay,
When his birthplace was a stable,
And his softest bed was hay!

Low he lay within a manger,
Where the hornéd oxen fed.
Peace, my darling, here's no danger --
Here's no oxen near thy bed.

May'st 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.