From Satan's breath, from Herod's sword, The cradle where Thou watchest, Lord, Is safe the Avenger's rushing cry Cradle Songs. 31 4. SLEEPING ON THE WATERS. "And he was in the hinder part of the ship, asleep on a pillow and they awake him, and say unto him, Master, carest thou not that we perish?" WHILE snows, even from the mild South-west, Come blinding o'er all day, What kindlier home, what safer nest, For flower or fragrant spray, Than underneath some cottage roof, Where fires are bright within, And fretting cares scowl far aloof, The scarlet tufts so cheerily Look out upon the snow, But gayer smiles the maiden's eye Whose guardian care they know. The buds that in that nook are born Through the dark howling day Old Winter's spite they laugh to scorn :— What is so safe as they? Nay, look again : beside the hearth The lowly cradle mark, Where, wearied with his ten hours' mirth, Sleeps in his own warm ark A bright-haired babe, with arm upraised, Stole o'er him, while in faith he gazed Storms may rush in, and crimes and woes Deform the quiet bower ; They may not mar the deep repose Of that immortal flower. Though only broken hearts be found To watch his cradle by, No blight is on his slumbers sound, Sleeping on the Waters. So gently slumber'd on the wave The new-born seer of old, Ordained the chosen tribes to save; Nor dream'd how darkly roll'd The waters by his rushy brake, With infants' blood for Israel's sake, What recks he of his mother's tears, The whispering reeds are all he hears, Sings him to sleep; but he will wake, Wave his stern rod ;—and lo! a lake, A restless sea of blood! Soon shall a mightier flood thy call From Israel shrinks away D 3833 Such honour wins the faith that gave Thee and thy sweetest boon Of infant charms to the rude wave, In the third joyous moon. Hail, chosen Type and Image true Of JESUS on the Sea ! In slumber and in glory too, Shadowed of old by thee. Save that in calmness thou didst sleep The summer stream beside, He on a wider wilder deep, Where boding night-winds sigh'd :— Sigh'd when at eve He laid Him down, But with a sound like flame At midnight from the mountain's crown Lo, how they watch, till He awake, How wistful count the waves that break |