William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Restoration Verse. 1910.
A Cradle HymnIsaac Watts (16741748)
H
Holy angels guard thy bed!
Heavenly blessings without number
Gently falling on thy head.
House and home, thy friends provide;
All without thy care or payment:
All thy wants are well supplied.
Than the Son of God could be,
When from heaven He descended
And became a child like thee!
Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay,
When His birthplace was a stable
And His softest bed was hay.
Spotless fair, divinely bright!
Must He dwell with brutal creatures?
How could angels bear the sight?
Cursèd sinners could afford
To receive the heavenly stranger?
Did they thus affront their Lord?
Though my song might sound too hard;
’Tis thy mother sits beside thee,
And her arms shall be thy guard.
How the Jews abused their King,
How they served the Lord of Glory,
Makes me angry while I sing.
Telling wonders from the sky!
Where they sought Him, there they found Him,
With His Virgin mother by.
Lovely infant, how he smiled!
When he wept, the mother’s blessing
Soothed and hush’d the holy child.
Where the hornèd oxen fed;
Peace, my darling; here’s no danger,
Here’s no ox anear thy bed.
Save my dear from burning flame,
Bitter groans and endless crying,
That thy blest Redeemer came.
Trust and love Him all thy days;
Then go dwell for ever near Him,
See His face, and sing His praise!