A CHRISTMAS LULLABY
THE restless clock is ticking outThe hours that go before the dawn,And icy moonbeams dart aboutThe snow that shrouds the slumbering lawn,—The lawn that Santa Claus must crossEre he shall reach my baby's cot,—Ah! who shall measure Bertie's lossShould Santa Claus come not!Sleep, softly sleep, my pretty one;I hear the neighing of the steeds,—Good Santa Claus has just begunHis round of kindly deeds.What has the little man for thee,My precious babe who slumb'rest there?He brings, sweet one, a gift from me,A mother's love, a mother's care,—A mother's care that shall not wane,While hands can toil or brain can think,Until that day shall come againWhen thou shalt cross life's brink.Sleep, softly sleep, my pretty one;I hear the neighing of the steeds,—Good Santa Claus has just begunHis round of kindly deeds.He brings a cross, he brings a crown,And places them on either hand.Upon the cross thou must not frown,For some day thou shalt understand,—Shalt understand the preciousnessThat to the sombre cross pertains,And thou wilt hold the crown far lessThan of the cross the pains.Sleep, softly sleep, my pretty one;I hear the neighing of the steeds,—Good Santa Claus has just begunHis round of kindly deeds.He brings the greatest gift of allIn bringing thee this Christmas Day:The deathless love it doth recallOf Him who took thy sins away;And when no more thy mother's careCan guide thy footsteps, Baby Mine,Thy steps shall be secured, eachwhere,By love of One divine.Sleep, softly sleep, my pretty one;I hear the neighing of the steeds,—Good Santa Claus has just begunHis round of kindly deeds.
THE restless clock is ticking outThe hours that go before the dawn,And icy moonbeams dart aboutThe snow that shrouds the slumbering lawn,—The lawn that Santa Claus must crossEre he shall reach my baby's cot,—Ah! who shall measure Bertie's lossShould Santa Claus come not!Sleep, softly sleep, my pretty one;I hear the neighing of the steeds,—Good Santa Claus has just begunHis round of kindly deeds.What has the little man for thee,My precious babe who slumb'rest there?He brings, sweet one, a gift from me,A mother's love, a mother's care,—A mother's care that shall not wane,While hands can toil or brain can think,Until that day shall come againWhen thou shalt cross life's brink.Sleep, softly sleep, my pretty one;I hear the neighing of the steeds,—Good Santa Claus has just begunHis round of kindly deeds.He brings a cross, he brings a crown,And places them on either hand.Upon the cross thou must not frown,For some day thou shalt understand,—Shalt understand the preciousnessThat to the sombre cross pertains,And thou wilt hold the crown far lessThan of the cross the pains.Sleep, softly sleep, my pretty one;I hear the neighing of the steeds,—Good Santa Claus has just begunHis round of kindly deeds.He brings the greatest gift of allIn bringing thee this Christmas Day:The deathless love it doth recallOf Him who took thy sins away;And when no more thy mother's careCan guide thy footsteps, Baby Mine,Thy steps shall be secured, eachwhere,By love of One divine.Sleep, softly sleep, my pretty one;I hear the neighing of the steeds,—Good Santa Claus has just begunHis round of kindly deeds.
THE restless clock is ticking outThe hours that go before the dawn,And icy moonbeams dart aboutThe snow that shrouds the slumbering lawn,—The lawn that Santa Claus must crossEre he shall reach my baby's cot,—Ah! who shall measure Bertie's lossShould Santa Claus come not!Sleep, softly sleep, my pretty one;I hear the neighing of the steeds,—Good Santa Claus has just begunHis round of kindly deeds.
THE restless clock is ticking out
The hours that go before the dawn,
And icy moonbeams dart about
The snow that shrouds the slumbering lawn,—
The lawn that Santa Claus must cross
Ere he shall reach my baby's cot,—
Ah! who shall measure Bertie's loss
Should Santa Claus come not!
Sleep, softly sleep, my pretty one;
I hear the neighing of the steeds,—
Good Santa Claus has just begun
His round of kindly deeds.
What has the little man for thee,My precious babe who slumb'rest there?He brings, sweet one, a gift from me,A mother's love, a mother's care,—A mother's care that shall not wane,While hands can toil or brain can think,Until that day shall come againWhen thou shalt cross life's brink.Sleep, softly sleep, my pretty one;I hear the neighing of the steeds,—Good Santa Claus has just begunHis round of kindly deeds.
What has the little man for thee,
My precious babe who slumb'rest there?
He brings, sweet one, a gift from me,
A mother's love, a mother's care,—
A mother's care that shall not wane,
While hands can toil or brain can think,
Until that day shall come again
When thou shalt cross life's brink.
Sleep, softly sleep, my pretty one;
I hear the neighing of the steeds,—
Good Santa Claus has just begun
His round of kindly deeds.
He brings a cross, he brings a crown,And places them on either hand.Upon the cross thou must not frown,For some day thou shalt understand,—Shalt understand the preciousnessThat to the sombre cross pertains,And thou wilt hold the crown far lessThan of the cross the pains.Sleep, softly sleep, my pretty one;I hear the neighing of the steeds,—Good Santa Claus has just begunHis round of kindly deeds.
He brings a cross, he brings a crown,
And places them on either hand.
Upon the cross thou must not frown,
For some day thou shalt understand,—
Shalt understand the preciousness
That to the sombre cross pertains,
And thou wilt hold the crown far less
Than of the cross the pains.
Sleep, softly sleep, my pretty one;
I hear the neighing of the steeds,—
Good Santa Claus has just begun
His round of kindly deeds.
He brings the greatest gift of allIn bringing thee this Christmas Day:The deathless love it doth recallOf Him who took thy sins away;And when no more thy mother's careCan guide thy footsteps, Baby Mine,Thy steps shall be secured, eachwhere,By love of One divine.Sleep, softly sleep, my pretty one;I hear the neighing of the steeds,—Good Santa Claus has just begunHis round of kindly deeds.
He brings the greatest gift of all
In bringing thee this Christmas Day:
The deathless love it doth recall
Of Him who took thy sins away;
And when no more thy mother's care
Can guide thy footsteps, Baby Mine,
Thy steps shall be secured, eachwhere,
By love of One divine.
Sleep, softly sleep, my pretty one;
I hear the neighing of the steeds,—
Good Santa Claus has just begun
His round of kindly deeds.