'Twas on the night the Lord was born
When Jesus halted on his way
When Pagans warr'd against the Cross
Oh, blessed is my baby boy
Sleep, Jesus, sleep!
Sporting through the forest wide
The day is o'er, the moon, &c. The evening is closing, &c.
The heathen monarch sits enthron'd The little babe is dead, it lies
The little church with flowers is strewn The sun had ris'n, the air was sweet The sun that gives me heat and light The waves are breaking snowy white There is an everlasting home There liv'd, as holy legends tell There's not a leaf within the bower
To ancient Milan's city fair
The Music of the Songs in a quarto volume, price 28.
1. Suffer the little Children to
WHEN Jesus halted on his way, And many throng'd to see, Though some forbade, yet would he say, "Come, little ones, to me."
Oh, happy then that infant band That gather'd round his knee, And happy they who kiss'd the hand That bled to set them free.
Had I been near him on that day, His gracious smile to see; Had I been near to hear him say, "Come, little ones, to me;"
Oh, what were then a throne above Or seraph's seat on high,
Compar'd with one sweet glance of love From that all-pitying eye!
Yet, hast thou not, my Lord and God, Though on thy throne above, Still here on earth thy own abode, The Altar of thy love?
Oh, thither, then, let me repair, Thy gracious smile to see, And hear thee say in stillness there, "Come, little one, to me."
2. The Little Mariners' Hymn to the Blessed Virgin.
A LITTLE boat with snow-white sail Is floating on the summer sea; Oh, lightly moves it with the gale, And all its crew are children three. Kind Heaven, grant no harm betide Their fragile bark when night falls dim; And hark, the breeze bears far and wide The little fishers' evening hymn.
"Poor fishermen, too weak are we To stem the rolling ocean's wave; And, Mary, we have turn'd to thee, A mother's gentle help to crave. Hail, Mary! star of ocean, hail!
Oh, hear the hymn we sing to thee, The while we trim our shifting sail, And shape our course across the sea.
Oh, deign our feeble toil to bless,
And keep old Ocean calm the while;
Oh, grant us, Mary, good success, And make our home with plenty smile. Hail, &c.
Sweet Mother, light our outward track, Poor helpless little fishers three, And bring our boat in safety back, Across the wide and pathless sea. Hail, &c.
The Angelus Bells.
(A Song for Three Children.)
HAIL, Mary! now the sun is up;
All things around look glad and bright, And heatherbell and buttercup
Shake off the dewdrops of the night. The lambs are frisking in the fields, The lark is singing in the sky; And man his wakening tribute yields To thee and thy sweet Son on high. Second Child. Noon.
Hail, Mary! midway in the sky The noontide sun its lustre sheds; The field-flowers almost seem to die,
So low they hang their drooping heads. The lambs have sought the woodland shade, The lark has ceas'd his note of glee; And pausing in the furrow'd glade, The ploughman lifts his hat to thee. Third Child. EVENING.
Hail, Mary! now the sun is far Adown his western path of light;
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