Lo, he slumbers in a manger,
Where the horned oxen fed!--
Peace, my darling, here's no danger:
There's no ox a-near thy bed.
'Twas so save thee, child, from dying,
Save my dear from burning flame,
Bitter groans and endless crying,
That thy blest Redeemer came.
May'st thou live to know and fear him,
Trust and love him all thy days,
Then go dwell for ever near him:
See his face, and sing his praise!
I could give thee thousand kisses!
Hoping what I most desire,
Not a mother's fondest wishes
Can to greater joys aspire!
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Divine Songs, by Isaac Watts
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