Classic Poem

Sweet Baby sleep: what ailes my Dear?
What ailes my Darling thus to cry?
Be still, my Childe, and lend thine ear,
To heare me sing thy Lullaby.
My pretty Lambe forbear to weep:
Be still my Dear; sweet Babie 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 Babie then, forbear to weep;
Be still my Babe; sweet Babie sleep.

Though thy Conception was in Sin,
A sacred Bathing thou hast had.
And, though thy Birth, unclean hath bin,
A blamelesse Babe, thou now art made.
Sweet Babie then, forbear to weep;
Be still my Dear; sweet Babie sleep.

Whil'st thus, thy Lullabie, I sing,
For thee, great Blessings ripening be:
Thine Eldest Brother is a King;
And hath a Kingdome brought for thee.
Sweet Babie then, forbear to weep;
Be still my Babe; sweet Babie sleep.

Sweet Babie sleep; and nothing fear;
For, whosoever thee offends,
By thy Protector threatned are,
And GOD, and Angels are thy Friends.
Sweet Babie then, forbear to weep;
Be still my Babe; sweet Babie 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.
Sweet Babie, then forbeare to weep;
Be still my Babe, sweet Babie sleep.

A little Infant, once was Hee:
And Strength, in Weaknesse, then was laid
Upon his Virgin-Mothers knee;
That, Pow'r to thee, might be convai'd.
Sweet Babie, then, forbeare to weep;
Be still my Babe; sweet Babie 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 Babie, then, forbeare to weep:
Be still my Babe; sweet Babie 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 swadling clothes as these.
Sweet Babie, then, forbeare to weep;
Be still my Babe; sweet Babie sleep.

Within a Manger lodg'd thy LORD,
Where Oxen lay, and Asses fed.
Warm rooms we do to thee afford,
An easie Cradle, or a Bed.
Sweet Babie, then forbeare to weep;
Be still my Babe; sweet Babie sleep.

The wants that he did then sustain,
Have purchas'd Wealth, my Babe, for thee:
And, by his Torments, and his pain,
Thy Rest and Ease, secured be.
My Babie, then, forbeare to weep;
Be still my Babe; sweet Babie sleep.

Thou hast (yet more) to perfect this,
A promise and an earnest got,
Of gaining everlasting Blisse,
Though thou my Babe perceiv'st it not.
Sweet Babie, then, forbeare to weep;
Be still my Babe; sweet Babie sleep.