A Christmas Cradlesong

Holy angels and blest, Through the palms as ye sweep Hold their branches at rest For my babe is asleep.

And ye Bethlehem palm-trees As stormy winds rush In tempest and fury Your angry noise hush;- Move gently, move gently, Restrain your wild sweep; Hold your branches at rest My babe is asleep.

My babe all divine, With earth’s sorrows oppressed, Seeks slumber an instant His grievings to rest; He slumbers,- he slumbers,- O, hush then and keep Your branches all still,- My babe is asleep.

Cold blasts wheel about him,- A rigourous storm,- And ye see how, in vain, I would shelter his form;- Holy angels and blest As above me ye sweep, Hold these branches at rest,- My babe is asleep.