SONGS FOR THE

cies eaitacmsaiapansincieinenaiiain
Soft and easy is thy cradle ;
Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay,
When his birthplace was a stable,
And his softest bed was hay.

  
    
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
    
  

Blessed babe! what glorious features,
Spotless, fair, divinely bright!

Must he dwell with brutal creatures?
How could angels bear the sight?

Was there nothing but a manger,
Cursed sinners could afford

To receive the heavenly stranger ?
Did they thus affront the Lord?

Soft, my child, I did not chide thee,
Though my song might sound too hard ;
'Tis thy mother sits bevide thee,
And her arms shall be thy guard.

Yet to read the shameful story,
How the Jews abused their King—
How they served the Lord of glory,
Makes me angry while I sing.

See the kinder shepherds round him,
Telling wonders from the sky ;

Where they sought him, there they found

With his virgin mother by. [him,