The New England Primer #227424

Holy angels guard thy bed Heavenly blessings, without number, Gently falling on thy head. 2 Sleep, my babe, thy food and raiment, House and home thy friends provide, All without thy care or payment, All thy wants are well supplied. 3 How much better thou'rt attended Than the Son of God could be, When from heaven he descended, And became a child like thee. 4 Soft and easy is thy cradle, Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay, When his birth-place was a stable; And his softest bed was hay.