Page:Breton Wither Browne.djvu/48

 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.

Within a manger lodged thy Lord

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 securèd 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.