A CRADLE HYMN.

HUSH! my dear, lie still and slumber,
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;
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 the Saviour lay, When His birth-place was a stable,

And His softest bed was hay.

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 horn'd oxen fed;

Peace, my darling, here's no danger,
Here's 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.

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!

I could give thee thousand kisses,
Hoping what I most desire;
Not a mother's fondest wishes
Can to greater joys aspire!

WATTS.

THE

BIBLE

HOLY BIBLE.

HOLY Bible, Book divine, Precious treasure, thou art mine; Mine to tell me whence I came,

Mine to teach me what I am.

Mine to show a Saviour's love;

Mine to chide me when I rove;

Mine art thou to guide my

feet;

Mine to judge, condemn, acquit.

110

HOLY BIBLE.

Mine to comfort in distress;
Mine to lead to promises;

Mine to warn of sinners' doom;

Mine to show that doom to shun.

Mine to show the living faith;
Mine to triumph over death;

Mine to tell of joys to come;
Mine to bring an earnest home.

Mine to point me out the road;
Mine to lead my heart to God.
Oh! thou precious Book divine,
Precious treasure, thou art mine.