When he wept, the mother's blessing Sooth'd and hush'd the holy child.

Lo, he slumbers in his manger, Where the horned oxen feed; 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 burning flame, Bitter groans, and endless crying, That thy blest Redeemer came.

Mayst 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.

THE END.