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 A rill of music from afar: Can the favourite organ jar So upon our hearts? We fear Lest it waken him; yet hear Him, waking, pray for it to come Under the window of his room, Asking that his friend, the player, May have food; we grant the prayer. Then he lists to every tune, Growing very weary soon.

III. Baby lies upon the bed, And our hearts with him lie dead. Baby lies with fair white blossom In his hair and hand and bosom: Only he is lovelier far Than earth's fairest flowers are! And while we cower, smitten low By our baby boy's death-blow, Draws again the organ near … Ah! Baby never more may hear.

IV. When the little child was going, From his lips came softly flowing,