  "Sleep, my little one, Sleep, my pretty one, Sleep." Tennyson. A CAROL AT THE MANGER.Lully, lulla, thow littel tine child; By, by, lully, lullay, thow littell tyne child; By, by, lully, lullay. O sisters too! how may we do, For to preserve this day This pore yongling, for whom we do sing By, by, lully, lullay. Herod the King, in his raging, Chargid he hath this day His men of might, in his owne sight, All yonge children to slay. That wo is me, pore child for the! And ever morne and day, For the parting nether say nor singe By, by, lully, lullay. Coventry Mysteries. A girl wearing simple clothing kneels in a field at the centre of the painting, looking upwards and holding her left hand to her ear. Three ethereal figures float above her. They look like children. One is touching her elbow and pointing, the second carries a sword, and the third carries a banner. A herd of goats are in the background, some buildings are in the distance, and a river and hills are in the far distance. A Vision A DREAM CAROL.Ah, my dear Son, said Mary, ah, my dear, Kiss thy mother, Jesu, with a laughing cheer! This endnes All in my sleep, Mary, that May, she sung lullay And sore did weep; To keep, she sought, full fast about Her Son from cold. Joseph said, Wife, my joy, my life, Say what ye would. Nothing, my spouse, is in this house Unto my pay; My Son a king, that made all thing, Lieth in hay. Ah, my dear Son! etc. My mother dear, amend your cheer And now be still; Thus for to lie it is soothly My Father's will. Infinitely, As it is found many a wound Suffer shall I; On Calvary that is so high There shall I be, Man to restore, nailÉd full sore Upon a tree. Ah, my dear Son! etc. Sandy's Christmas Carols. THE KING IN THE CRADLE.My sweet little baby, what meanest thou to cry? Be still, my blessÉd babe, though cause thou hast to mourn, Whose blood most innocent to shed the cruel king hath sworn; And lo, alas! behold what slaughter he doth make, Shedding the blood of infants all, sweet Saviour, for thy sake. A King, a King is born, they say, which King this king would kill: O woe and woful heavy day when wretches have their will! Lulla, la lulla, lulla lullaby. Three kings this King of kings to see are come from far, To each unknown, with offerings great, by guiding of a star; And shepherds heard the song, which angels bright did sing, Giving all glory unto God for coming of this King, O woe and woful heavy day when wretches have their will? Lulla, etc. Lo, lo, my little babe, be still, lament no more; From fury thou shalt step aside, help have we still in store: We heavenly warning have some other soil to seek; From death must fly the Lord of life, as lamb both mild and meek: Thus must my babe obey the king that would him kill; O woe and woful heavy day when wretches have their will! Lulla, etc. But thou shalt live and reign, as sibyls hath foresaid, As all the prophets prophesy, whose mother, yet a maid And perfect virgin pure, with her breasts shall upbreed Both God and man that all hath made, the son of heavenly seed: O joy and joyful happy day when wretches want their will! Lulla, etc. Byrd's Psalmes, Sonets, etc., A.D. 1588. MADONNA AND CHILD.This endris night I saw a sight, A star as bright as day; And ever among A maiden sung, Lullay, by by, lullay. This lovely lady sat and sang, and to her child she said,— "My son, my brother, my father dear, why liest thou thus in hayd? My sweet bird, Thus it is betide Though thou be king veray; But, nevertheless, I will not cease To sing, by by, lullay." The child then spake; in his talking he to his mother said,— "I bekid Down to me light, Thou knowest it is no nay, And of that sight Thou mayest be light To sing, by by, lullay." "Now, sweet Son, since thou art king, why art thou laid in stall? Why not thou ordain thy bedding in some great kingÈs hall? Methinketh it is right That king or knight Should be in good array; And them among It were no wrong To sing, by by, lullay." "Mary, mother, I am thy child, though I be laid in stall, Lords and dukes shall worship me and so shall kingÈs all. Ye shall well see That kingÈs three Shall come on the twelfth day; For this behest Give me thy breast And sing, by by, lullay." How should I keep thee to thy pay For all thy will I would fulfil Thou weet'st full well in fay, And for all this I will thee kiss, And sing, by by, lullay." "My dear mother, when time it be, take thou me up aloft, And set me upon thy knee and handle me full soft. And in thy arm Thou wilt me warm, And keep me night and day; If I weep And may not sleep Thou sing, by by, lullay." "Now, sweet Son, since it is so, all things are at thy will, I pray thee grant to me a boon if it be right and skill, That will or can, Be merry upon my day; To bliss them bring, And I shall sing, Lullay, by by, lullay." A ROCKING HYMN.Sweet baby, sleep; what ails my dear? What ails my darling thus to cry? Be still, my child, and lend thine ear To hear me sing thy lullaby. My pretty lamb, forbear to weep; Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep. Thou blessed soul, what canst thou fear? What things to thee can mischief do? Thy God is now thy Father dear; His holy Spouse thy Mother, too. Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep. Whilst thus thy lullaby I sing, For thee great blessings ripening be; Thine eldest brother is a king, And hath a kingdom bought for thee. Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep. Sweet baby, sleep, and nothing fear, For whosoever thee offends, By thy protector threatened are, And God and angels are thy friends. Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep. When God with us was dwelling here, In little babes he took delight: Such innocents as thou, my dear, Are ever precious in his sight. Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep. A little infant once was he, And Strength-in-Weakness then was laid Upon his Virgin-Mother's knee, That power to thee might be conveyed. Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep. In this thy frailty and thy need He friends and helpers doth prepare, Which thee shall cherish, clothe, and feed, For of thy weal they tender are. Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep. The King of kings, when he was born, Had not so much for outward ease; By him such dressings were not worn, Nor such-like swaddling-clothes as these. Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep. Where oxen lay and asses fed; Warm rooms we do to thee afford, An easy cradle or a bed. Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep. The wants that he did then sustain Have purchased wealth, my babe, for thee, And by his torments and his pain Thy rest and ease secured be. My baby, then, forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep. Thou hast (yet more), to perfect this, A promise and an earnest got 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. George Wither. A CRADLE-SONG OF THE VIRGIN.The Virgin stills the crying Of Jesus, sleepless lying; And singing for his pleasure, Thus calls upon her treasure, "My darling, do not weep, my Jesu, sleep!" O lamb, my love inviting, O star, my soul delighting, O flower of mine own bearing, O jewel past comparing! My darling, etc. My Child, of might indwelling, My sweet, all sweets excelling, Of bliss the fountain flowing, The dayspring ever glowing My darling, etc. My joy, my exultation, My spirit's consolation; My son, my spouse, my brother, O listen to thy mother! My darling, etc. Or love of answering meetness? Or is fit music wanting? Ho! angels, raise your chanting! My darling, etc. Translated from the Latin by Rev. H. R. Bramley. WHISPERING PALMS.Lope de Vega. A CHRISTMAS LULLABY.Sleep, baby, sleep! The Mother sings; Heaven's angels kneel and fold their wings: Sleep, baby, sleep! With swathes of scented hay thy bed By Mary's hand at eve was spread. Sleep, baby, sleep! At midnight came the shepherds, they Whom seraphs wakened by the way. Sleep, baby, sleep! And three kings from the East afar Ere dawn came, guided by thy star. Sleep, baby, sleep! They brought thee gifts of gold and gems, Pure orient pearls, rich diadems. Sleep, baby, sleep! But thou who liest slumbering there, Art King of kings, earth, ocean, air. Sleep, baby, sleep! Sleep, baby, sleep! The shepherds sing: Through heaven, through earth, hosannas ring. Sleep, baby, sleep! John Addington Symonds. THE VIRGIN'S CRADLE-HYMN.Dormi, Jesu! Mater ridet QuÆ tam dulcem somnum videt, Dormi, Jesu! blandule! Si non dormis, Mater plorat Inter fila cantans orat, Blande, veni, somnule. Translation. Sleep, sweet babe! my cares beguiling: Mother sits beside thee smiling; Sleep, my darling, tenderly! If thou sleep not, mother mourneth, Singing as her wheel she turneth: Come soft slumber, balmily! Samuel Taylor Coleridge. THE SOVEREIGN.Upon my lap my sovereign sits And sucks upon my breast; Meantime his love maintains my life And gives my sense her rest. Sing lullaby, my little boy, Sing lullaby, mine only joy! When thou hast taken thy repast, Repose, my babe, on me; So may thy mother and thy nurse Thy cradle also be. Sing lullaby, my little boy, Sing lullaby, mine only joy! I grieve that duty doth not work All that my wishing would, Because I would not be to thee But in the best I should. Sing lullaby, my little boy, Sing lullaby, mine only joy! Yet as I am, and as I may I must and will be thine, Vouchsafing to be mine. Sing lullaby, my little boy, Sing lullaby, mine only joy! Martin Peerson, A.D. 1620. BY THE CRADLE-SIDE.Sweet dreams, form a shade O'er my lovely infant's head! Sweet dreams of pleasant streams By happy, silent, moony beams! Sweet sleep, with soft down Weave thy brows an infant crown! Sweet sleep, angel mild, Hover o'er my happy child! Sweet smiles, in the night Hover over my delight! Sweet smiles, mother's smile All the livelong night beguile. Sweet moans, dovelike sighs, Chase not slumber from thine eyes! Sweet moan, sweeter smile, All the dovelike moans beguile! Sleep, sleep, happy child! All creation slept and smiled. Sleep, sleep, happy sleep, While o'er thee doth mother weep. Holy image I can trace; Sweet babe, once like thee Thy Maker lay and wept for me: Wept for me, for thee, for all, When he was an infant small; Thou his image ever see, Heavenly face that smiles on thee! Smiles on thee, on me, on all, Who became an infant small, Infant smiles are his own smiles: Heaven and earth to peace beguiles. William Blake. THE VIRGIN MARY TO THE CHILD JESUS.But see, the Virgin blest Hath laid her babe to rest. Milton. I.Sleep, sleep, mine Holy One! My flesh, my Lord!—what name? I do not know A name that seemeth not too high or low, Too far from me or heaven. My Jesus, that is best! that word being given By the majestic angel whose command Was softly as a man's beseeching said, When I and all the earth appeared to stand In the great overflow Of light celestial from his wings and head. Sleep, sleep, my saving One! II.And art Thou come for saving, baby-browed And speechless Being—art Thou come for saving? The palm that grows beside our door is bowed By treadings of the low wind from the south, A restless shadow through the chamber waving: But Thou, with that close slumber on thy mouth, Dost seem of wind and sun already weary. Art come for saving, O my weary One? III.Perchance this sleep that shutteth out the dreary Earth-sounds and motions, opens on Thy soul High dreams on fire with God; High songs that make the pathways where they roll More bright than stars do theirs; and visions new Of Thine eternal nature's old abode. Suffer this mother's kiss, Best thing that earthly is, To guide the music and the glory through, Nor narrow in Thy dream the broad upliftings Of any seraph wing! Thus, noiseless, thus. Sleep, sleep, my dreaming One! IV.The slumber of His lips meseems to run Through my lips to mine heart; to all its shiftings In a great calm. I feel, I could lie down As Moses did, and die, I am 'ware of you, heavenly Presences, That stand with your peculiar light unlost, Each forehead with a high thought for a crown, Unsunned i' the sunshine! I am 'ware. Yet throw No shade against the wall! How motionless Ye round me with your living statuary, While through your whiteness, in and outwardly, Continual thoughts of God appear to go, Like light's soul in itself! I bear, I bear, To look upon the dropt lids of your eyes, Though their external shining testifies To that beatitude within, which were Enough to blast an eagle at his sun. I fall not on my sad clay face before ye; I look on His. I know My spirit which dilateth with the woe Of His mortality, May well contain your glory. Yea, drop your lids more low, Ye are but fellow-worshippers with me! Sleep, sleep, my worshipped One! V.We sate among the stalls at Bethlehem. The dumb kine from their fodder turning them, Softened their horned faces To almost human gazes Towards the newly born. The simple shepherds from the star-lit brooks Brought visionary looks, As yet in their astonished hearing rung The strange, sweet angel-tongue. The magi of the East, in sandals worn, Knelt reverent, sweeping round, With long pale beards their gifts upon the ground, The incense, myrrh and gold, These baby hands were impotent to hold. So, let all earthlies and celestials wait Upon thy royal state! Sleep, sleep, my kingly One! VI.I am not proud—meek angels, ye invest New meeknesses to hear such utterance rest On mortal lips,—"I am not proud"—not proud! Albeit in my flesh God sent His Son, Albeit over Him my head is bowed As others bow before Him, still mine heart Bows lower than their knees. O centuries That roll, in vision, your futurities Whose murmurs seem to reach me while I keep Watch o'er this sleep,— Say of me as the heavenly said,—"Thou art The blessedest of women!"—blessedest, Not holiest, not noblest,—no high name, Whose height misplaced may pierce me like a shame, When I sit meek in heaven! VII.For me—for me— God knows that I am feeble like the rest!— I often wandered forth, more child than maiden, Among the midnight hills of Galilee, Whose summits looked heaven-laden; Listening to silence as it seemed to be God's voice, so soft yet strong—so fain to press Upon my heart as heaven did on the height, And waken up its shadows by a light, And show its vileness by a holiness. Then I knelt down most silent like the night, Too self-renounced for fears, Raising my small face to the boundless blue Whose stars did mix and tremble in my tears. God heard them falling after—with His dew. VIII.So, seeing my corruption, can I see. This Incorruptible now born of me To shine on, (for even Adam was no child,) Created from my nature all defiled, This mystery from out mine ignorance— Nor feel the blindness, stain, corruption, more Than others do, or I did heretofore?— Can hands wherein such burden pure has been, Not open with the cry, "Unclean, unclean!" More oft than any else beneath the skies? Ah King, ah Christ, ah Son! The kine, the shepherds, the abased wise, Must all less lowly wait Than I, upon thy state!— Sleep, sleep, my kingly One! IX.Art Thou a King, then? Come, His universe, Come, crown me Him a king! Pluck rays from all such stars as never fling Their light where fell a curse. And make a crowning for this kingly brow!— What is my word?—Each empyreal star Sits in a sphere afar In shining ambuscade: The child-brow, crowned by none, Keeps its unchildlike shade. Sleep, sleep, my crownless One! X.Unchildlike shade!—no other babe doth wear An aspect very sorrowful, as Thou.— No small babe-smiles, my watching heart has seen, To float like speech the speechless lips between; No dovelike cooing in the golden air, No quick short joys of leaping babyhood. Alas, our earthly good In heaven thought evil, seems too good for Thee: Yet, sleep, my weary One! XI.And then the drear, sharp tongue of prophecy, With the dread sense of things which shall be done, Doth smite me inly, like a sword—a sword?— (That "smites the Shepherd!") then I think aloud The words "despised,"—"rejected,"—every word Recoiling into darkness as I view The darling on my knee. Bright angels,—move not!—lest ye stir the cloud Betwixt my soul and His futurity! I must not die, with mother's work to do, And could not live—and see. XII.It is enough to bear This image still and fair— This holier in sleep, Than a saint at prayer: This aspect of a child Who never sinned or smiled— This presence in an infant's face: This sadness most like love, This love than love more deep, This weakness like omnipotence, It is so strong to move! Awful is this watching place, Awful what I see from hence— A king, without regalia, A God, without the thunder, A child, without the heart for play; Ay, a Creator rent asunder From His first glory and cast away On His own world, for me alone To hold in hands created, crying—Son! XIII.That tear fell not on Thee Beloved, yet Thou stirrest in Thy slumber! Thou, stirring not for glad sounds out of number From summer wind and bird, So quickly hast Thou heard A tear fall silently?— Wak'st Thou, O loving One? Elizabeth Barrett Browning. FOOTNOTE:A BEDSIDE DITTY.Baby, baby dear, Earth and heaven are near Now, for heaven is here. Heaven is every place Where your flower-sweet face Fills our eyes with grace. Till your own eyes deign Earth a glance again, Earth and heaven are twain. Now your sleep is done, Shine, and show the sun Earth and heaven are one. Algernon Charles Swinburne. GIVEN BACK ON CHRISTMAS MORN.(A MOTHER WATCHES BY HER SICK BABE.)Round about the casement Wail the winds of winter; Shaken from the frozen eaves Many an icy splinter. On the hillside, in the hollow, Weaving wreaths of snow: Now in gusts of solemn music Lost in murmurs low; Howling now across the wold In its shroudlike vastness, Like the wolves about a fold In some Alpine fastness, Hungered by the cold. (THE MOTHER SINGS.)Babe of mine—babe of mine, Must I lose you? Dare I weep if the Divine Will should choose you?— Ah, to mourn, as I have smiled, At the thought of you, my child! Ah, my child—my child! With existence! If one strips the clinging vine There's resistance— Shall not I then——? I talk wild, Seeing Death so near my child:— Ah, my child—my child! Babe of mine—heart's best wine— Life's pure essence! Gloomy shadows, that define Death's near presence. Dim those dear eyes, undefiled As God's violets—ah, my child: Ah, my child—my child! The imperial purple of the night Is spread, wine-dark, above, But glistens with no gems of light, To hint of Heaven's love. A sombre pall hangs overhead, Fringed with lurid clouds of lead,— O'er the sleeping earth below One long, wide waste of silent snow, And the wind moans drearily As it wanders by, And the night wanes wearily In the starlight sky. (THE MOTHER SINGS.)Must the dear eyes close? Must the lips be still?— How I love their speech that flows Like a wanton rill! Must those cheeks, soft-tinged with rose, Pallid grow and chill? Give her back to me, angel in disguise! So your mystery I shall learn—yet with tearless eyes. By the pangs, the prayers, By the mother's glee, By her hopes, her fears, her cares, Give my child to me— Give it back to me! Quenched the eye's soft light, Hushed the cowslip breath! Going, darling, in the night? Spare—oh, spare her, Death! Dying—is it so? Oh, it must not be! Can my one poor treasure go? Give her back to me, Give her back to me: Or take me too,—left alone, Now my little one is gone; Ah, my child, my child! A yellow radiance is shed; And o'er the hill-tops wrapt in snow, Is born a tinge of rosy glow. Within the air a stir—like wings Of angels in their minist'rings; A tremulous motion, and a thrill, As with faint light the heavens fill. Night's sombre clouds are slow withdrawn, And nature cries, Awake, 'tis dawn. About the lonely casement Blows fresh the breath of day;— The mother, in amazement, Sees death-glooms fade away! The blue eyes open once again, Once more the lips have smiled— Her tears fell like the spring-time rain: God gives her back her child! Hush, there are footsteps on the snow, That pause the lattice-pane below; While voices chant the carol-rhymes, The Christmas song of olden times: Awake, good Christians! Long ago The shepherds waked at night, And angels in the light. Hosanna! sing, Hosanna! sing, Hosanna in the height! New life they told to all on earth, New life and blessing bright, Forewarning of the Saviour's birth, In Bethlehem this night. Hosanna! sing, Hosanna! sing, Hosanna in the height! New life to all,—new life to all,— The tidings good recite! New life to all, which did befall At Bethlehem this night. Hosanna! sing, Hosanna! sing, Hosanna in the height! The voices hushed—the footsteps died In distance far aloof, It seemed a blessing did abide Upon that silent roof, As far away their cheery singing Upon the frosty air came ringing. Among the clouds that sail o'erhead A yellow glory is outspread; A rosy blushing radiance grows, As wider still the warm light glows: And flooding daylight falls again From cloud to hill—from hill to plain. A golden sea of swimming light Poured o'er the sombre shores of night, While the glad mother, to her breast Her child yet close and closer pressed, Her rescued treasure—newly born— Her babe—given back on Christmas morn. Thomas Hood. A LULLING SONG.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 thy Saviour lay, When His birthplace was a stable, And His softest bed was hay. See the kinder shepherds round Him, 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. Lo, He slumbers in His manger, Where the hornÉd oxen fed; —Peace, my darling, here's no danger; Here's no ox a-near thy bed! May'st thou live to know and fear Him, Trust and love Him all thy days; Then go dwell forever 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. Isaac Watts. GOOD-NIGHT.Good-night, good-night, the day is done; Rock, rock the cradle, little one; The lamp is low, and low the sun, Good-night! Good-night, good-night, the Christmas bough Bends to the rocking wind, and thou To mother's ditty noddest now, Good-night! Good-night, good-night, the holy day Bring baby sweets, and sweets alway! Rock, rock—then, tiptoe, steal away, Good-night! H. S. M. END OF BOOK III.Transcriber's Notes: A number of the poems contain archaic and varied spelling. This has been left as printed, with the exception of the following few printer errors: Page 51—nothin.' amended to nothin'.—"Jes sayin' nothin'. That was why ..." Page 59—joyfulst amended to joyful'st—"So, now is come our joyful'st feast," Page 70—convivo amended to convivio—"Quot estis in convivio." Illustrations have been shifted slightly, so that they are not in the middle of poems. Captions have been added from the List of Illustrations. The first illustration was located as a frontispiece in the book, but has been moved closer to the page number given in the List of Illustrations here. Page 97 contains the line "Bears home the huge unwieldly logs,"—unwieldly may or may not be a printer error, so it has been left as printed. |
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