HUSH! my dear, lie still and slumber,nHoly angels guard thy bed!nHeavenly blessings without numbernGently falling on thy head.nnSleep, my babe; thy food and raiment,nHouse and home, thy friends provide;nAll without thy care or payment:nAll thy wants are well supplied.nnHow much better thou art attendednThan the Son of God could be,nWhen from heaven He descendednAnd became a child like thee!nnSoft and easy is thy cradle:nCoarse and hard thy Saviour lay,nWhen His birthplace was a stablenAnd His softest bed was hay.nnWas there nothing but a mangernCursed sinners could affordnTo receive the heavenly stranger?nDid they thus affront their Lord?nnSoft, my child: I did not chide thee,nThough my song might sound too hard;n'Tis thy mother sits beside thee,nAnd her arms shall be thy guard.nnLo, He slumbers in His manger,nWhere the horned oxen fed:nPeace, my darling; here's no danger,nHere's no oxen near thy bed.nn'Twas to save thee, child, from dying,nSave my dear from burning flame,nBitter groans and endless crying,nThat thy blest Redeemer came.nnMay you live to know and fear Him,nTrust and love Him all thy days;nThen go dwell for ever near Him,nSee His face, and sing His praise!