The Cradle Song of the Poor

The Cradle Song of the Poor

Hush! I cannot bear to see thee

Stretch thy hands in vain;

I have got no bread to give thee—

Nothing, child, to ease thy pain.

When God sent thee first to bless me,

Proud and thankful too was I;

Now, my darling, I thy mother,

Almost long to see thee die.

Sleep, my darling, thou art weary;

God is good, but life is dreary.

I have watched thy beauty fading,

And thy strength sink day by day;

Soon I know will want and fever

Take thy little life away.

Famine makes thy father reckless,

Hope has left both him and me;

We could suffer all, my baby,

Had we but one crust for thee.

Sleep, my darling, thou art weary;

God is good, but life is dreary.

Better thou should perish early,

Starve so soon, my darling one,

Than live to want, to sin, to struggle,

Vainly still, as I have done;

Better that thy angel spirit

With my joy, my peace, were flown,

Ere thy heart grow cold and careless,

Reckless, hopeless, like my own.

Sleep, my darling, thou art weary;

God is good, but life is dreary.

I am wasted, dear, with hunger.

And my brain is all opprest;

I have scarcely strength to press thee,

Wan and feeble, to my breast.

Patience, baby, God will help us,

Death will come to you and me;

He will take us to His Heaven,

Where no want or pain can be.

Sleep, my darling, thou art weary;

God is good, but life is dreary.

Such the plaint that, late and early,

Did we listen, we might hear

Close beside us: but the thunder

Of the city dulls our ear.

Every heart, like God's bright angel,

Can bid one such sorrow cease;

God has glory when His children

Bring His poor ones joy and peace.

Listen, nearer, while she sings,

Sounds the fluttering of wings.

Unattributed

1:10, p. 4

9.24.1859