Lulla Lullaby

Be still, my Blessed 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 is born, they say, which King this king would kill;
Oh, woe and woeful heavy day, when wretches have their will.
Lulla, la lulla; lulla lullaby:
My sweet little Baby, what meanest thou to cry?

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;
Oh, woe and woeful heavy day, when wretches have their will.
Lo, lo, my little Babe, be still, lament no more;
From fury shalt thou 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;
Oh, woe and woeful heavy day, when wretches have their will.

But thou shalt live and reign, as Sibyls have 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 caitiffs none can 'tray, whom tyrants none can kill;
Oh, joy and joyful happy day, when wretches want their will.
Lulla, la lulla; lulla, lullaby:
My sweet little Baby, what meanest thou to cry?