Analysis of A Rocking Hymn



Sweet baby, sleep! what ails my dear,
What ails my darling thus to cry?
Be still, my child, and lend thine ear
To hear me sing thy lullaby.
My pretty lamb, forbear to weep;
Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep.

Thou blessed soul, what canst thou fear?
What thing to thee can mischief do?
Thy God is now thy father dear,
His holy Spouse, thy mother too.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Though thy conception was in sin,
A sacred bathing thou hast had;
And, though thy birth unclean hath been,
A blameless babe thou now art made.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep,

While thus thy lullaby I sing,
For thee great blessings ripening be;
Thine eldest brother is a King,
And hath a kingdom bought for thee.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Sweet baby, sleep and nothing fear,
For whosoever thee offends,
By thy protector threat'ned are,
And God and angels are thy friends.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

When God with us was dwelling here,
In little babes he took delight;
Such innocents as thou, my dear,
Are ever precious in His sight.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

A little infant once was He,
And, strength in weakness, then was laid
Upon His virgin-mother's knee,
That power to thee might be conveyed.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

In this, thy frailty and thy need,
He friends and helpers doth prepare,
Which thee shall cherish, clothe and feed;
For of thy weal they tender are.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

The King of kings, when he was born,
Had not so much for outward ease;
By Him such dressings were not worn,
Nor such like swaddling-clothes as these.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Within a manger lodged thy Lord
Where oxen lay and asses fed;
Warm rooms we do to thee afford,
An easy cradle or a bed.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

The wants that He did then sustain
Have purchased wealth, my babe, for thee;
And by His torments and His pain
Thy rest and ease securèd be.
My baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Thou hast (yet more) to perfect this,
A promise and an earnest got
Of gaining everlasting bliss,
Though thou, my babe, perceiv'st it not;
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.


Scheme abcbdD aeaeDD fxfgDD hihiDD ajkjDD clalDD igigDD mxmkDD nonoDD pqpqDD riridD ststDD
Poetic Form
Metre 11011111 11110111 11110111 1111110 1101111 11111101 1111111 11111101 11111101 11011101 1101111 11111101 11010101 01010111 01110111 01011111 1101111 11111101 1111011 111101001 11010101 01010111 1101111 11111101 11010101 1010101 11010111 01010111 1101111 11111101 11111101 01011101 11001111 11010011 1101111 11111101 01010111 01010111 01110101 110111101 1101111 11111101 01110011 11010101 11110101 11111101 1101111 11111101 01111111 11111101 11110011 1111111 1101111 11111101 01010111 11010101 11111101 11010101 1101111 11111101 01111101 11011111 0111011 1101111 1101111 11111101 11111011 01001101 1100101 1111111 1101111 11111101
Closest metre Iambic tetrameter
Characters 2,461
Words 466
Sentences 27
Stanzas 12
Stanza Lengths 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6
Lines Amount 72
Letters per line (avg) 27
Words per line (avg) 6
Letters per stanza (avg) 160
Words per stanza (avg) 39
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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 05, 2023

2:20 min read
97

George Wither

George Wither was an English poet, pamphleteer, and satirist. He was a prolific writer who adopted a deliberate plainness of style; he was several times imprisoned. C. V. Wedgwood wrote "every so often in the barren acres of his verse is a stretch enlivened by real wit and observation, or fired with a sudden intensity of feeling". more…

All George Wither poems | George Wither Books

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