Whilst 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 threatened 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. 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 conveyed. 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. 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. GEORGE WITHER 35. GLORIA IN EXCELSIS As on the night before this happy morn, A blessèd angel unto shepherds told Where (in a stable) He was poorly born, Whom nor the earth nor heaven of heavens can hold: Thro’ Bethlehem rung This news at their return; Yea, angels sung That God with us was born; And they made mirth because we should not mourn. Their angel carol sing we, then, To God on high all glory be, For peace on earth bestoweth He, And sheweth favour unto men.