  As the songs under this head will be employed by the mother, chiefly in soothing her infant to sleep, or in mitigating its sufferings in hours of sickness or distress, it seems not necessary that all the language should be adapted to the infantile capacity. It may suffice that the words contain certain easy syllables or phrases, which, by their perpetual recurrence, make strong impressions upon the ear of the child. The exercise of singing should, however, be so managed as to afford pleasure to the child: for otherwise its taste will be injured. LULLABY.Music Lullaby, lullaby, Do not wake and weep; Softly in the cradle lie, Sleep O, sleep. Lullaby, lullaby, Hear thy mother's voice; Softly on her bosom lie, Then she'll rejoice. SLEEP, BABY, SLEEP.Music Sleep, baby, sleep, No longer weep; Near thee sits thy little brother, Close beside thee is thy mother, Sleep, baby, sleep. Sleep, baby, sleep, No longer weep; Israel's Shepherd watches o'er thee; No rude danger lies before thee, Sleep, baby, sleep. Sleep, baby, sleep, No longer weep; Germ of beauty, bud and blossom, Rest upon thy Savior's bosom, Sleep, baby, sleep. Sleep, baby, sleep, No longer weep; Life has many a raging billow— Rest upon thy downy pillow, Sleep, baby, sleep. HUSHABY.Music Hushaby, hushaby, Baby, do not weep, On thy downy pillow lie, Softly, softly sleep. Hushaby, hushaby, Now thine eyelids close; While thy mother sitting by, Watches thy repose. Hushaby, hushaby, Think of no alarm, Angel spirits round thee fly, Guarding thee from harm. Hushaby, hushaby, Slumber sweet be given; On thy downy pillow lie, Precious gift from heav'n! SLUMBER SWEET.Music Slumber sweet Thine eyelids greet My infant daughter dear: No footstep rude Shall here intrude, Nor stranger shall come near. Slumber sweet Thine eyelids greet Within thy mother's arms; She little tells How feeling steals O'er all thy rising charms. Slumber sweet Thine eyelids greet And gentle dreams be thine; To thee be given The bliss of heav'n, Where cherub angels shine. SOFTLY IN THE CRADLE LIE.Music Softly in the cradle lie, Thy father's hope, thy mother's joy; Sweetly rest in balmy sleep, Do not wake to sigh and weep. Softly in the cradle lie; A mother's heart thy wants supply; She can rest if thou repose, Sweetly then thine eyelids close. Softly in the cradle lie, Frail bud of immortality; Soon thy blossom may unfold Fragrant mid the harps of gold. O, DO NOT WAKE.Music O, do not wake, sweet little one, The night is dark and drear; All that a mother could have done, Has been perform'd with care. The pillow's soft on which you rest, And sweetly you have fed; Still lean upon your mother's breast Your weary little head. O, do not wake, sweet little one, Nor tremble with alarm; The Hand unseen you live upon Preserves you still from harm. WELCOME, WELCOME.Music Welcome, welcome, little stranger To this busy world of care: Nothing can thy peace endanger, Nothing now thy steps ensnare. Mother's heart is fill'd with pleasure, All her feelings are awake; Gladly would she, little treasure, All thy pains and suff'rings take. May'st thou, if design'd by heaven, Future days and years to see, Soothe her, make her passage even; Let her heart rejoice in thee. May her anxious cares and labors Be repaid by filial love; And thy soul be crown'd with favors From the boundless source above. Jane Taylor. HOW GENTLY SHE SLEEPS.Music How gently she sleeps, How silent she keeps, Her breath is as soft as the morn; While every new grace In the dear one I trace, To my bosom in transport is borne. No sorrow she knows, This hour of repose, Nor hunger nor thirst nor disease; The world with its cares, And temptations and snares, Has never invaded her peace. I've linger'd awhile, To gaze on that smile, So sweetly that plays on her lips; Some innocent dream Or some heavenly beam, Is visiting her while she sleeps. My lov'd one awake, Thy slumberings break, My daughter, 'tis time to arise; Thou joy of my heart, A lent blessing thou art, To be given again to the skies. O DEAR ONE.Music FOR A CHILD DANGEROUSLY ILL. O dear one, how sad is that moan, How languid and sickly that eye; My bosom responds to each groan, And echos each deep-breathing sigh. Those fluttering pulsations I trace, The anguish that sits on thy brow, The paleness that covers thy face, Thy voice that is languid and low. O dear one, how deep is the grief, That withers my desolate heart; Kind Heav'n bring thee speedy relief, Or thou from thy mother wilt part. O MY PRECIOUS LITTLE GEM.Music FOR A FATHERLESS CHILD. O my precious little gem, While I hold thee to my breast, May some heav'n inspiring dream Soothe thy spirit into rest. But thy mother's heart is riv'n, Bitter anguish she must feel; Nothing but the balm of heav'n, Can her wounded spirit heal. Dark the night and dread the hour When thy father lay so low; When he felt the monster's pow'r, Who could tell thy mother's woe! But, thou image of his love, May'st in heav'n thy father see; Ere his spirit soar'd above 'Twas his latest pray'r for thee. SAFE SLEEPING.Music Safe sleeping on its mother's breast, The smiling babe appears Now sweetly sinking into rest, Now wash'd in sudden tears: Hush, hush, my little baby dear, There's nobody to hurt you here. Without a tender mother's care The little thing must die; Its chubby hands too feeble are One service to supply: And not a tittle does it know What kind of world it's come into. Full many a summer sun must glow, And lighten up the skies, Before its tender limbs can grow To any thing of size: And all the while the mother's eye Must every little want supply. Then surely when each little limb, Shall grow to healthy size; And youth and manhood strengthen him For toil and enterprize, His mother's kindness is a debt He never, never will forget. Jane Taylor. HUSH, HUSH.Music FOR THE SPRING OF THE YEAR. Hush, hush, While flowrets blush, This blossom must repose, Thy mother's joy, My infant boy— No rival beauty Hush, hush, On every bush, While birds are singing shrill; My little child, So sweet and mild, Must now be soft and still. Hush, hush, While riv'lets gush, Refrain thy rising tears, For every grief, We'll seek relief, And soothe thy infant cares. Hush, hush, What feelings rush Within a mother's breast; Be this her pray'r That thou may'st share In heav'n's eternal rest. WEEP NOT.Music FOR A SICK CHILD. Weep not, O little one, Though thou art very ill, For thou art not alone Thy woes to feel. Each sigh of thine will heave An anxious mother's breast; Each accent of thy grief Will break her rest. Each tear that thou dost shed Will cause her grief to flow: Her heart, since thine doth bleed, Is bleeding too. One Hand alone can heal; That hand is ever near: O who can doubt His skill— Or gracious care! MOTHER DEAR, THE BABY CRIES.Music Mother dear, the baby cries, Where is the nurse? Every thing that sister tries Makes him only worse. Come, mother, come; Dear mother, come! Every thing that sister tries Makes him only worse. Mother dear, the baby cries, Is he not ill? Not a thing that brother tries Ever keeps him still. Come, mother, come, Dear mother, come! Not a thing that brother tries Ever keeps him still. Mother dear, the baby cries, What shall we do? In the cradle here he lies, Waiting for you. Come, mother, come, Dear mother, come! In the cradle here he lies Waiting for you. |
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