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From Satan's breath, from Herod's sword,

The cradle where Thou watchest, Lord,

Is safe the Avenger's rushing cry
Is like a sister's lullaby.

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,
And doors are closed on sin?

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,
As though the slumberous dew

Stole o'er him, while in faith he gazed
Upon his Guardian true.

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,
No touch of harmful eye.

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,
Perchance even now defiled

With infants' blood for Israel's sake,
Blood of some priestly child.

What recks he of his mother's tears,
His sister's boding sigh?

The whispering reeds are all he hears,
And Nile, soft weltering nigh,

Sings him to sleep; but he will wake,
And o'er the haughty flood

Wave his stern rod ;—and lo! a lake,

A restless sea of blood!

Soon shall a mightier flood thy call
And outstretch'd rod obey ;—
To right and left the watery wall

From Israel shrinks away

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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
Upon His slumbers came.—

Lo, how they watch, till He awake,
Around His rude low bed:

How wistful count the waves that break
So near His sacred Head!

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