1 Cradled in manger the Christ-child is sleeping,
Shadows are creeping, soon daylight will die;
Guarded from danger the Babe rests till morning;
With hand rais’d in warning the mother is nigh.
Winds are sighing, day is dying,
Mother watches near;
Tho’ a manger be Thy bed,
Angles hover o’er Thy head;
Soon will come the morning red,
2 What is He dreaming, the Christ-child so tender;
Born but to render His life for our need?
What hope is gleaming, what vision entrancing
Of mankind advancing where Jesus shall lead? [Refrain]
3 Moments are flying, soon Christ shall awaken,
Lov’d unforsaken, acclaim’d by His own.
Praises undying are echoing near Him;
All ye who do fear Him draw near to His throne. [Refrain]