Mother's Song In this thy frailty and thy need He friends and helpers doth prepare, Which thee shall cherish, clothe, and feed, The King of Kings when He was born, Had not so much for outward ease; Within a manger lodged thy Lord, Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; The wants that He did then sustain My baby, then forbear to weep; Thou hast, yet more, to perfect this Of gaining everlasting bliss, Though thou, my babe, perceiv'st it not, Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep. 77 George Wither [1588-1667] MOTHER'S SONG My heart is like a fountain true That flows and flows with love to you. As chirps the lark unto the tree So chirps my pretty babe to me. And it's O! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby. There's not a rose where'er I seek, And it's O! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby. There's not a star that shines on high, Can dance as baby does to me. And it's O! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby. No silk was ever spun so fine As is the hair of baby mine. My baby smells more sweet to me A little fish swims in the well, And it's O! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby. The Queen has sceptre, crown and ball,' More fair your skin, as white as milk. Ten thousand parks where deer do run, And it's O! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby. A LULLABY UPON my lap my sovereign sits And sucks upon my breast; Meanwhile his love sustains my life And gives my body rest. Unknown 2. A Cradle Hymn 'i 79 When thou hast taken thy repast, So may thy mother and thy nurse Sing lullaby, my little boy, I grieve that duty doth not work Sing lullaby, my little boy, Yet as I am, and as I may, 1 Sing lullaby, my little boy, EAT Richard Rowlands (fl. 1565–1620) A CRADLE HYMN HUSH! my dear, lie still and slumber, 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→→ Was there nothing but a manger To receive the heavenly stranger? Soft, my child: I did not chide thee, 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, Where they sought Him, there they found Him See the lovely babe a-dressing; Lo, He slumbers in His manger, 'Twas to save thee, child, from dying, Save my dear from burning flame, Bitter groans and endless crying, That thy blest Redeemer came. Lullaby May'st thou live to know and fear Him, See His face, and sing His praise! 81 Isaac Watts [1674-1748] CRADLE SONG SLEEP, sleep, beauty bright, Sweet babe, in thy face As thy softest limbs I feel O the cunning wiles that creep When thy little heart doth wake, Then the dreadful night shall break. William Blake (1757-1827] LULLABY BALOO, loo, lammy, now baloo, my dear, Now hushaby, lammy, now hushaby, dear; Now hushaby, lammy, for mother is near. The wild wind is raving, and mammy's heart's sair; The wild wind is raving, and ye dinna care. |