Sleep, Baby, Sleep!

My pretty lamb, forbear to weep;

Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep.

Thou blessed soul, what canst thou fear?
What thing to thee can mischief do?
Thy God is now thy father dear,

His holy Spouse, thy mother too.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Though thy conception was in sin,
A sacred bathing thou hast had;
And though thy birth unclean hath been,
A blameless babe thou now art made.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep.

While thus thy lullaby I sing,

For thee great blessings ripening be ;
Thine Eldest Brother is a King,

And hath a kingdom bought for thee.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Sweet baby, sleep, and nothing fear ;
For whosoever thee offends
By thy protector threaten'd are,

And God and angels are thy friends.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

When God with us was dwelling here,
In little babes He took delight;
Such innocents as thou, my dear,
Are ever precious in His sight.

163

Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

A little infant once was He;

And strength in weakness then was laid
Upon His virgin mother's knee,

That power to thee might be convey'd.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

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.

The Harp the Monarch Minstrel Swept. 165

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.

The Harp the Monarch Minstrel Swept.

LORD BYRON.-Music by Isaac Nathan.

~HE harp the monarch minstrel swept,

THE

The king of men, the loved of Heaven,
Which Music hallow'd while she wept

O'er tones her heart of hearts had given,
Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven!
It soften'd men of iron mould,

It gave them virtues not their own;

No ear so dull, no soul so cold

That felt not, fired not to the tone,

Till David's lyre grew mightier than his throne!

It told the triumphs of our king,

It wafted glory to our God;

It made our gladden'd valleys ring,

The cedars bow, the mountains nod;

Its sound aspired to Heaven and their abode!
Since then, though heard on earth no more,
Devotion, and her daughter, Love,

Still bid the bursting spirit soar

To sounds that seem as from above,

In dreams that day's broad light cannot remove.

Ruth and Naomi.

DUET

J. E. CARPENTER.-Music by Stephen Glover.

NAOMI.

O forth! my hearth is desolate,

G°

I'm old and childless now;
God's wrath falls at the widow's gate,
His hand is on her brow;
But thou, my well-belovèd Ruth,
Earth's blessings may command;
Back in thy beauty and thy youth,
Back to thine own bright land!

RUTH.

Nay, mother-still my mother dear,
For was not he, thy son,

Now call'd away from earth's dull sphere,
Mine own beloved one?

Mother, I still will cleave to thee,

A blessing in thine age,

A guide, a help, if such may be,

Through thy lone pilgrimage.

BOTH.

The dead have pass'd the widow's gate,

The loved ones all are flown:

Oh! who remain so desolate

As they who mourn alone?

NAOMI.

Beloved, amid Judea's band

My kindred dwell, but thine Are distant from that holy land,

Nor pray at Judah's shrine:

The Nautilus.

Yet, kindly as ye dealt with him,
The dead-so deal with me,
And till these aged eyes grow dim
I will remember thee.

RUTH.

Ask me no more to leave thy side,
Intreat me not to go,

For wheresoe'er thou may'st abide,
There will I dwell also;

And I will bend the suppliant knee
With thee at Judah's shrine;
Thy people shall my people be,
And thy God shall be mine

BOTH.

And we will bend the suppliant knee

At Judah's holy shrine;

Thy people shall my people be,

And thy God shall be mine.

167

The Nautilus.

W. E. STAITE.-Music by C. Hodgson.

`AR o'er the wave when the winds are asleep,

FAR

And hush'd is the cry of the sea-bird's wild note,

And the sunshine of heaven plays over the deep,

There the Nautilus glides in her beautiful boat;

How she spreads her broad sail, how she speeds on her flight; All alone on the billow she feels no alarm,

A vision of beauty, a creature of light;

She dreams not of danger, she dreads not the storm;