The Vigils of Mary
M. Ohlson
Sleep, little Jesus,
A manger Thy bed,
While I sit beside Thee,
Caress Thy sweet head.
Bright stars their radiance on
Thee gently lay,
Sleep, sleep,
Thy pillow is hay.
Sleep, my son Jesus,
A tree makes Thy bed;
I kneel at Thy feet,
For too high hangs Thy head.
Stars are not shining,
The sky knows my loss,
Sleep, sleep,
Thy pillow a Cross.