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PDF: 87.87 (Trochaic)
HUSH! my dear, lie still and slumber;
Holy angels guard thy bed,
Heavenly blessings without number
Gently falling on thy head.
2 How much better thou'rt attended
Than the Son of God could be,
When from heaven he descended
And became a child like thee.
3 Soft and easy is thy cradle;
Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay,
When his birthplace was a stable
And his softest bed was hay.
4 May'st thou live to know and fear him,
Trust and love him all thy days;
Then go dwell for ever near him,
See his face and sing his praise.
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