Hush, hush thee, my baby, hush, hush thee to rest

Hush, hush thee, my baby, hush, hush thee to rest,
Be still! and I'll sing thee the song thou lov'st best,
For I'll sing of the mother whose blessing thou'lt be,
And of hearts that are glad when they think upon thee,
And of prayers which are rising that thou may'st be blest,
Then hush thee, sweet baby, hush, hush thee to rest.

Weep, weep not, my baby, weep, weep not to-day,
I'll sing 'till I charm thy young sorrows away;
For my song shall be all of those blessings divine,
Of the home and the hope that, sweet baby, are thine,
Of Him who is waiting all bright things to give
And of One who has died that my baby may live!

There are flowers for thee, sweet one, which never shall die!
Unfed by a tear, and unfann'd by a sigh;
There's a heritage promised thee fadeless above.
Whose title is grace, and whose riches are love,
And a crown of rejoicing to circle thy brow.
Then who'll be so portion'd, my baby, as thou?

Sleep, sleep then, my infant, sleep softly the while
I'll sing to thee, sweet one! and watch for thy smile,
For that answering smile, love, which oft as I trace
With its soft light of gladness play over thy face,
I'll hail as a dream, sent thee down from the blest,
And think that my babe's gentle spirit hath rest.