Who knew the skies, and had the strange white star
To light their nightly lamp, thro' deserts wide
Of Bactria, and the Persic wastes, and tide
Of Tigris and Euphrates; past the snow
Of Ararat, and where the sand-winds blow
O'er Ituræa; and the crimson peaks
Of Moab, and the fierce, bright, barren reeks
From Asphaltities; to this hill--to thee
Bethlehem-Ephrata! Witness these three
Gaze, hand in hand, with faces grave and mild,
Where, 'mid the gear and goats, Mother and Child
Make state and splendor for their eyes. Then lay
Each stranger on the earth, in the Indian way,
Paying the "eight prostrations;" and was heard
Saying softly, in the Indian tongue, that word
Wherewith a Prince is honored. Humbly ran,
On this, the people of their caravan
And fetch the gold, and--laid on gold--the spice,
Frankincense, myrrh: and next, with reverence nice,
Foreheads in dust, they spread the precious things
At Mary's feet, and worship Him who clings
To Mary's bosom drinking soft life so
Who shall be life and light to all below.
"For, now we see," say they, departing: "plain
The star's word comes to pass! The Buddh again
Appeareth, or some Bôddhisat of might
Arising for the west, who shall set right,
And serve and reconcile; and, maybe, teach
Knowledge to those who know. We, brothers, each,
Have heard yon shepherds babbling: if the sky
Speaketh with such, heaven's mercy is drawn nigh!
Well did we counsel, journeying to this place!
Yon hour-old Babe, milking that breast of grace,
The world will praise and worship, well-content."
Then, fearing Herod, to their homes they went
Musing along the road. But he alway
Angered and troubled, bade his soldiers slay
Whatever man-child sucked in Bethlehem.
Lord! had'st Thou been all God, as pleaseth them
Who poorly see Thy godlike self, and take
True glory from Thee for false glory's sake:
Co-equal power, as these--too bold--blaspheme,
Ruler of what Thou camest to redeem;
Not Babe Divine, feeling with touch of silk
For fountains of a mortal Mother's milk
With sweet mouth buried in the warm feast thus,
And dear heart growing great to beat for us,
And soft feet waiting till the way was spread
Whereby what was true God in Thee should tread
Triumphant over woe and death to bliss,--
Thou, from Thy cradle would'st have stayed in this
Those butchers! With one angel's swift decree,
Out of the silver cohorts lackeying Thee,
Thou had'st thrust down the bitter prince who killed
Thine innocents! Would'st Thou not? Was't not willed?
Alas! "Peace and good-will" in agony
Found first fruits! Rama heard that woful cry
Of Rachel weeping for the children; lone,
Uncomforted, because her babes are gone.
Herod the King! hast thou heard Rachel's wail
Where restitution is? Did aught avail
Somewhere? at last? past life? after long stress
Of heavy shame to bring forgetfulness?
If such grace be, no hopeless sin is wrought;
Thy bloody blade missed what its vile edge sought;
Mother, and Child, and Joseph--safe from thee--
Journey to Egypt, while the eastern Three
Wind homewards, lightened of their spice and gold;
And those great days, that were to be, unfold
In the fair fields beside the shining sea
Which rolls, 'mid palms and rocks, in Galilee.
_Sir Edwin Arnold._
_It Brings Good Cheer._
"You may talk of Country Christmasses,
Their thirty pound butter'd eggs, their pies of carps' tongues;
Their pheasants drench'd with ambergris; the carcasses of three fat
wethers bruised for gravy to make sauce for a single peacock!"
_Massinger._
OLD CHRISTMAS RETURNED.
All you that to feasting and mirth are inclined,
Come, here is good news for to pleasure your mind;
Old Christmas is come for to keep open house,
He scorns to be guilty of starving a mouse.
Then come, boys, and welcome for diet the chief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.
A long time together he hath been forgot,
They scarce could afford to hang on the pot;
Such miserly sneaking in England hath been,
As by our forefathers ne'er us'd to be seen;
But now he's returned, you shall have in brief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.
The times were ne'er good since Old Christmas was fled,
And all hospitality hath been so dead;
No mirth at our festivals late did appear,
They scarcely would part with a cup of March beer;
But now you shall have for the ease of your grief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.
The butler and baker, they now may be glad,
The times they are mended, though they have been bad;
The brewer, he likewise may be of good cheer,
He shall have good trading for ale and strong beer;
All trades shall be jolly, and have for relief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.
The holly and ivy about the walls wind,
And show that we ought to our neighbors be kind,
Inviting each other for pastime and sport,
And where we best fare, there we most do resort;
We fail not of victuals, and that of the chief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.
The cooks shall be busied by day and by night,
In roasting and boiling, for taste and delight;
Their senses in liquor that's nappy they'll steep,
Though they be afforded to have little sleep;
They still are employed for to dress us in brief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.
Although the cold weather doth hunger provoke,
'Tis a comfort to see how the chimneys do smoke;
Provision is making for beer, ale, and wine,
For all that are willing or ready to dine:
Then haste to the kitchen for diet the chief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.
All travellers, as they do pass on their way,
At gentlemen's halls are invited to stay,
Themselves to refresh, and their horses to rest,
Since that he must be Old Christmas's guest;
Nay, the poor shall not want, but have for relief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.
Now Mock-beggar-hall it no more shall stand empty,
But all shall be furnisht with freedom and plenty;
The hoarding old misers, who us'd to preserve
The gold in their coffers, and see the poor starve,
Must now spread their tables, and give them in brief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.
The court, and the city, and country are glad,
Old Christmas is come to cheer up the sad;
Broad pieces and guineas about now shall fly,
And hundreds be losers by cogging a die,
Whilst others are feasting with diet the chief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.
Those that have no coin at the cards for to play,
May sit by the fire and pass time away,
And drink of their moisture contented and free,
"My honest, good fellow, come, here is to thee!"
And when they are hungry, fall to their relief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.
Young gallants and ladies shall foot it along,
Each room in the house to the music shall throng,
Whilst jolly carouses about they shall pass,
And each country swain trip about with his lass;
Meantime goes the caterer to fetch in the chief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.
The cooks and the scullion, who toil in their frocks,
Their hopes do depend upon their Christmas-box;
There is very few that do live on the earth
But enjoy at this time either profit or mirth;
Yea, those that are charged to find all relief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.
Then well may we welcome Old Christmas to town,
Who brings us good cheer and good liquor so brown;
To pass the cold winter away with delight,
We feast it all day, and we frolic all night;
Both hunger and cold we keep out with relief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.
Then let all curmudgeons who dote on their wealth,
And value their treasure much more than their health,
Go hang themselves up, if they will be so kind;
Old Christmas with them but small welcome shall find;
They will not afford to themselves without grief,
Plum-pudding, goose, capon, minced-pies, and roast-beef.
_Evans' Old Ballads._
THE TRENCHERMAN.
My master and dame, I well perceive,
Are purposed to be merry to-night,
And willingly hath given me leave
To combat with a Christmas Knight.
Sir Pig, I see, comes prancing in
And bids me draw if that I dare;
I care not for his valor a pin,
For Jack of him will have a share.
My lady goose among the rest
Upon the table takes her place,
And piping-hot bids do my best,
And bravely looks me in the face;
For pigs and geese are gallant cheer,
God bless my master and dame therefore!
I trust before the next New Year
To eat my part of half a score.
I likewise see good minced-pie
Here standing swaggering on the table;
The lofty walls so large and high
I'll level down if I be able;
For they be furnished with good plums,
And spiced well with pepper and salt,
Every prune as big as both my thumbs
To drive down bravely the juice of malt.
Fill me some of your Christmas beer,
Your pepper sets my mouth on heat,
And Jack's a-dry with your good cheer,
Give me some good ale to my meat.
And then again my stomach I'll show,
For good roast-beef here stoutly stands;
I'll make it stoop before I go,
Or I'll be no man of my hands.
And for the plenty of this house
God keep it thus well-stored alway;
Come, butler, fill me a good carouse,
And so we'll end our Christmas day.
_New Christmas Carols._
BAN AND BLESSING.
Now Christmas comes, 'tis fit that we
Should feast and sing and merry be,
Keep open house, let fiddlers play;
A fig for cold, sing care away!
And may they who thereat repine,
On brown bread and on small beer dine.
Make fires with logs, let the cooks sweat
With boiling and with roasting meat;
Let ovens be heat for fresh supplies
Of puddings, pasties, and minced-pies.
And whilst that Christmas doth abide
Let butt'ry-door stand open wide.
Hang up those churls that will not feast
Or with good fellows be a guest,
And hang up those would take away
The observation of that day;
O may they never minced-pies eat,
Plum-pudding, roast-beef, nor such meat.
But blest be they, awake and sleep,
Who at that time a good house keep;
May never want come nigh their door,
Who at that time relieve the poor;
Be plenty always in their house
Of beef, veal, lamb, pork, mutton, souse.
_Poor Robin's Almanac._
THRICE WELCOME!
Now thrice welcome, Christmas,
Which brings us good cheer,
Minced-pies and plum porridge,
Good ale and strong beer;
With pig, goose, and capon,
The best that may be,
So well doth the weather
And our stomachs agree.
Observe how the chimneys
Do smoke all about;
The cooks are providing
For dinner, no doubt;
But those on whose tables
No victuals appear,
O may they keep Lent
All the rest of the year.
With holly and ivy
So green and so gay,
We deck up our houses
As fresh as the day;
With bay and rosemary
And laurel complete;
And every one now
Is a king in conceit.
_Poor Robin's Almanac._
CHRISTMAS PROVENDER.
Provide for Christmas ere that it do come,
To feast thy neighbor good cheer to have some;
Good bread and drink, a fire in the hall,
Brawn, pudding, souse, and good mustard withal.
Beef, mutton, pork, and shred pies of the best,
Pig, veal, goose, capon, and turkey well drest;
Apples and nuts to throw about the hall,
That boys and girls may scramble for them all.
Sing jolly carols, make the fiddlers play,
Let scrupulous fanatics keep away;
For oftentimes seen no arranter knave
Than some who do counterfeit most to be grave.
_Poor Robin's Almanac._
GLEE AND SOLACE.
With merry glee and solace
This second day of Christmas
Now comes in bravely to my master's house,
Where plenty of good cheer I see,
With that which most contenteth me,
As brawn and bacon, powdered beef, and souse.
For the love of Stephen,
That blessed saint of heaven,
Which stonéd was for Jesus Christ his sake,
Let us all, both more and less,
Cast away all heaviness,
And in a sober manner merry make.
He was a man belovéd,
And his faith approvéd
By suffering death on this holy day,
Where he with gentle patience
And a constant sufferance,
Hath taught us all to heaven the ready way.
So let our mirth be civil,
That not one thought of evil
May take possession of our hearts at all,
So shall we love and favor get
Of them that kindly thus do set
Their bounties here so freely in this hall.
Of delicates so dainty,
I see now here is plenty
Upon this table ready here prepared;
Then let us now give thanks to those
That all things friendly thus bestows,
Esteeming not this world that is so hard.
For of the same my master
Hath made me here a taster;
The Lord above requite him for the same!
And so to all within this house
I will drink a full carouse,
With leave of my good master and my dame.
And the Lord be praised
My stomach is well eased,
My bones at quiet may go take their rest;
Good fortune surely follow me
To bring me thus so luckily
To eat and drink so freely of the best.
_New Christmas Carols, A.D. 1661._
ON SAINT JOHN'S DAY.
In honor of Saint John we thus
Do keep good Christmas cheer;
And he that comes to dine with us,
I think he need not spare.
The butcher he hath killed good beef,
The caterer brings it in;
But Christmas pies are still the chief,
If that I durst begin.
Our bacon-hogs are full and fat
To make us brawn and souse;
Full well may I rejoice thereat
To see them in the house.
But yet the minced-pie it is
That sets my teeth on water;
Good mistress, let me have a bit,
For I do long thereafter.
And I will fetch you water in
To brew and bake withal,
Your love and favor still to win
When as you please to call.
Then grant me, dame, your love and leave
To taste your pie-meat here;
It is the best, in my conceit,
Of all your Christmas-cheer.
The cloves, and mace, and gallant plums
That here on heaps do lie,
And prunes as big as both my thumbs,
Enticeth much mine eye.
Oh, let me eat my belly-full
Of your good Christmas-pie;
Except thereat I have a pull,
I think I sure shall die.
Good master, stand my loving friend,
For Christmas-time is short,
And when it comes unto an end
I may no longer sport;
Then while it doth continue here,
Let me such labor find
To eat my fill of that good cheer
That best doth please my mind.
Then I shall thank my dame therefore,
That gives her kind consent
That Jack, your boy, with others more,
May have this Christmas spent
In pleasant mirth and merry glee,
As young men most delight;
For that's the only sport for me,
And so God give you all good-night.
_New Christmas Carols, A.D. 1661._
CHRISTMAS ALMS.
Now that the time is come wherein
Our Saviour Christ was born,
The larders full of beef and pork,
The garners filled with corn;
As God hath plenty to thee sent,
Take comfort of thy labors,
And let it never thee repent
To feast thy needy neighbors.
Let fires in every chimney be
That people they may warm them;
Tables with dishes covered,--
Good victuals will not harm them.
With mutton, veal, beef, pig, and pork,
Well furnish every board;
Plum-pudding, furmety, and what
Thy stock will them afford.
No niggard of thy liquor be,
Let it go round thy table;
People may freely drink, but not
So long as they are able.
Good customs they may be abused,
Which makes rich men to slack us;
This feast is to relieve the poor,
And not to drunken Bacchus.
This, if thou doest,
'Twill credit raise thee;
God will thee bless,
And neighbors praise thee.
_Poor Robin's Almanac._
CHRISTMAS AT THE ROUND TABLE.
The great King Arthur made a royal feast,
And held his Royal Christmas at Carlisle,
And thither came the vassals, most and least,
From every corner of the British Isle;
And all were entertained, both man and beast,
According to their rank, in proper style;
The steeds were fed and littered in the stable,
The ladies and the knights sat down to table.
The bill of fare (as you may well suppose)
Was suited to those plentiful old times,
Before our modern luxuries arose,
With truffles, and ragouts, and various crimes;
And, therefore, from the original in prose
I shall arrange the catalogue in rhymes:
They served up salmon, venison and wild boars
By hundreds, and by dozens, and by scores.
Hogsheads of honey, kilderkins of mustard,
Muttons, and fatted beeves, and bacon swine;
Herons and bitterns, peacocks, swan, and bustard,
Teal, mallard, pigeons, widgeons, and, in fine.
Plum-puddings, pancakes, apple-pies, and custard,
And therewithal they drank good Gascon wine,
With mead, and ale, and cider of our own;
For porter, punch, and negus were not known.
All sorts of people there were seen together,
All sorts of characters, all sorts of dresses;
The fool with fox's tail and peacock feather,
Pilgrims, and penitents, and grave burgesses;
The country people with their coats of leather,
Vintners and victuallers with cans and messes,
Grooms, archers, varlets, falconers, and yeomen,
Damsels, and waiting-maids, and waiting-women.
_John Hookham Frere._
_Lullaby._
"Sleep, my little one,
Sleep, my pretty one,
Sleep."
_Tennyson._
A CAROL AT THE MANGER.
Lully, lulla, thow littel tine child;
By, by, lully, lullay, thow littell tyne child;
By, by, lully, lullay.
O sisters too! how may we do,
For to preserve this day
This pore yongling, for whom we do sing
By, by, lully, lullay.
Herod the King, in his raging,
Chargid he hath this day
His men of might, in his owne sight,
All yonge children to slay.
That wo is me, pore child for the!
And ever morne and day,
For the parting nether say nor singe
By, by, lully, lullay.
_Coventry Mysteries._
[Illustration: A Vision]
A DREAM CAROL.
Ah, my dear Son, said Mary, ah, my dear,
Kiss thy mother, Jesu, with a laughing cheer!
This endnes[G] night I saw a sight
All in my sleep,
Mary, that May, she sung lullay
And sore did weep;
To keep, she sought, full fast about
Her Son from cold.
Joseph said, Wife, my joy, my life,
Say what ye would.
Nothing, my spouse, is in this house
Unto my pay;[H]
My Son a king, that made all thing,
Lieth in hay.
Ah, my dear Son! etc.
My mother dear, amend your cheer
And now be still;
Thus for to lie it is soothly
My Father's will.
Derision, great passion,
Infinitely,
As it is found many a wound
Suffer shall I;
On Calvary that is so high
There shall I be,
Man to restore, nailéd full sore
Upon a tree.
Ah, my dear Son! etc.
_Sandy's Christmas Carols._
FOOTNOTES:
[G] Last.
[H] Content.
THE KING IN THE CRADLE.
My sweet little baby, what meanest thou to cry?
Be still, my blesséd babe, though cause thou hast to mourn,
Whose blood most innocent to shed the cruel king hath sworn;
And lo, alas! behold what slaughter he doth make,
Shedding the blood of infants all, sweet Saviour, for thy sake.
A King, a King is born, they say, which King this king would kill:
O woe and woful heavy day when wretches have their will!
Lulla, la lulla, lulla lullaby.
Three kings this King of kings to see are come from far,
To each unknown, with offerings great, by guiding of a star;
And shepherds heard the song, which angels bright did sing,
Giving all glory unto God for coming of this King,
Which must be made away--King Herod would him kill;
O woe and woful heavy day when wretches have their will?
Lulla, etc.
Lo, lo, my little babe, be still, lament no more;
From fury thou shalt step aside, help have we still in store:
We heavenly warning have some other soil to seek;
From death must fly the Lord of life, as lamb both mild and meek:
Thus must my babe obey the king that would him kill;
O woe and woful heavy day when wretches have their will!
Lulla, etc.
But thou shalt live and reign, as sibyls hath foresaid,
As all the prophets prophesy, whose mother, yet a maid
And perfect virgin pure, with her breasts shall upbreed
Both God and man that all hath made, the son of heavenly seed:
Whom caitives none can 'tray, whom tyrants none can kill:
O joy and joyful happy day when wretches want their will!
Lulla, etc.
_Byrd's Psalmes, Sonets, etc., A.D. 1588._
MADONNA AND CHILD.
This endris night[I]
I saw a sight,
A star as bright as day;
And ever among
A maiden sung,
Lullay, by by, lullay.
This lovely lady sat and sang, and to her child she said,--
"My son, my brother, my father dear, why liest thou thus in hayd?[J]
My sweet bird,
Thus it is betide
Though thou be king veray;
But, nevertheless,
I will not cease
To sing, by by, lullay."
The child then spake; in his talking he to his mother said,--
"I bekid[K] am king, in crib though I be laid;
For angels bright
Down to me light,
Thou knowest it is no nay,
And of that sight
Thou mayest be light
To sing, by by, lullay."
"Now, sweet Son, since thou art king, why art thou laid in stall?
Why not thou ordain thy bedding in some great kingès hall?
Methinketh it is right
That king or knight
Should be in good array;
And them among
It were no wrong
To sing, by by, lullay."
"Mary, mother, I am thy child, though I be laid in stall,
Lords and dukes shall worship me and so shall kingès all.
Ye shall well see
That kingès three
Shall come on the twelfth day;
For this behest
Give me thy breast
And sing, by by, lullay."
"Now tell me, sweet Son, I thee pray, thou art my love and dear,
How should I keep thee to thy pay[L] and make thee glad of cheer?
For all thy will
I would fulfil
Thou weet'st full well in fay,
And for all this
I will thee kiss,
And sing, by by, lullay."
"My dear mother, when time it be, take thou me up aloft,
And set me upon thy knee and handle me full soft.
And in thy arm
Thou wilt me warm,
And keep me night and day;
If I weep
And may not sleep
Thou sing, by by, lullay."
"Now, sweet Son, since it is so, all things are at thy will,
I pray thee grant to me a boon if it be right and skill,
That child or man,
That will or can,
Be merry upon my day;
To bliss them bring,
And I shall sing,
Lullay, by by, lullay."
FOOTNOTES:
[I] Endris night: last night.
[J] Hay.
[K] Nevertheless.
[L] Peace.
A ROCKING HYMN.
Sweet baby, sleep; what ails my dear?
What ails my darling thus to cry?
Be still, my child, and lend thine ear
To hear me sing thy lullaby.
My pretty lamb, forbear to weep;
Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep.
Thou blessed soul, what canst thou fear?
What things to thee can mischief do?
Thy God is now thy Father dear;
His holy Spouse thy Mother, too.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
Whilst thus thy lullaby I sing,
For thee great blessings ripening be;
Thine eldest brother is a king,
And hath a kingdom bought for thee.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
Sweet baby, sleep, and nothing fear,
For whosoever thee offends,
By thy protector threatened are,
And God and angels are thy friends.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
When God with us was dwelling here,
In little babes he took delight:
Such innocents as thou, my dear,
Are ever precious in his sight.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
A little infant once was he,
And Strength-in-Weakness then was laid
Upon his Virgin-Mother's knee,
That power to thee might be conveyed.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
In this thy frailty and thy need
He friends and helpers doth prepare,
Which thee shall cherish, clothe, and feed,
For of thy weal they tender are.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
The King of kings, when he was born,
Had not so much for outward ease;
By him such dressings were not worn,
Nor such-like swaddling-clothes as these.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
Within a manger lodged thy Lord,
Where oxen lay and asses fed;
Warm rooms we do to thee afford,
An easy cradle or a bed.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
The wants that he did then sustain
Have purchased wealth, my babe, for thee,
And by his torments and his pain
Thy rest and ease secured be.
My baby, then, forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
Thou hast (yet more), to perfect this,
A promise and an earnest got
Of gaining everlasting bliss,
Though thou, my babe, perceiv'st it not.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
_George Wither._
A CRADLE-SONG OF THE VIRGIN.
The Virgin stills the crying
Of Jesus, sleepless lying;
And singing for his pleasure,
Thus calls upon her treasure,
"My darling, do not weep, my Jesu, sleep!"
O lamb, my love inviting,
O star, my soul delighting,
O flower of mine own bearing,
O jewel past comparing!
My darling, etc.
My Child, of might indwelling,
My sweet, all sweets excelling,
Of bliss the fountain flowing,
The dayspring ever glowing
My darling, etc.
My joy, my exultation,
My spirit's consolation;
My son, my spouse, my brother,
O listen to thy mother!
My darling, etc.
Say, would'st thou heavenly sweetness,
Or love of answering meetness?
Or is fit music wanting?
Ho! angels, raise your chanting!
My darling, etc.
_Translated from the Latin by Rev. H. R. Bramley._
WHISPERING PALMS.
Holy angels and blest,
Through these Palms as ye sweep,
Hold their branches at rest,
For my Babe is asleep.
And ye, Bethlehem palm-trees,
As stormy winds rush
In tempest and fury
Your angry noise hush;--
Move gently, move gently,
Restrain your wild sweep;
Hold your branches at rest--
My Babe is asleep.
_Lope de Vega._
A CHRISTMAS LULLABY.
Sleep, baby, sleep! The Mother sings;
Heaven's angels kneel and fold their wings:
Sleep, baby, sleep!
With swathes of scented hay thy bed
By Mary's hand at eve was spread.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
At midnight came the shepherds, they
Whom seraphs wakened by the way.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
And three kings from the East afar
Ere dawn came, guided by thy star.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
They brought thee gifts of gold and gems,
Pure orient pearls, rich diadems.
Sleep, baby, sleep!