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Sleep, baby, sleep, at long last born
In Bethlehem as once foretold,
To parents recently forlorn,
To all who yet may be consoled.

Sleep, baby, sleep, and do not cry
When shepherds from the fields appear,
Just after angels in the sky
Have sung that Christ the Lord is near.

Sleep, baby, sleep, you need not stir
Though weary wise men humbly bring
Gold, frankincense, and even myrrh,
Fine gifts for any earthly king.

Sleep, baby, sleep, as ox and ass
Behold the Son of One “I AM”;
So age to age will come to pass
Till lion shall lie down with lamb.

—Jane Blanchard