Weep not: she is not dead, but sleepeth.
Luke 8:52
Words: Anna B. Bensel, in Triumphant Songs No. 2, edited by Edwin Excell (Chicago, Illinois: 1889), number 69. The lyrics also appear, as a poem, in Bensel’s book, A Voice from the Silence (Boston, Massachusetts: Sherman & French, 1917), pages 88–89.
Music: Edwin O. Excell (🔊 pdf nwc).
If you know where to get a good photo of Bensel (head & shoulders, at least 200×300 pixels),
Sleep, my little one, sleep,
Narrow thy bed and deep;
Hunger, nor thirst, nor cruel pain,
Ever can hurt my babe again;
I, thy mother, will bend and sing,
Watch thee slumbering.
Sleep, my little one, sleep,
Sleep, my little one, sleep.
Sleep, my little one, sleep,
Narrow thy bed and deep;
Soon in the angels’ tender arms,
Close sheltered there from earth’s alarms,
Thou wilt waken, sweet baby mine,
In thy home divine.
Sleep, my little one, sleep,
Sleep, my little one, sleep.
Sleep, my little one, sleep,
Narrow thy bed and deep;
Folded your hands in death’s mute prayer,
Never to reach in wild despair;
Hunger, anguish, will soon be o’er,
I can weep no more;
Sleep, my little one, sleep,
Sleep, my little one, sleep.
Sleep, my little one, sleep,
Narrow thy bed and deep;
I, too, shall soon be laid to rest,
Close by the side of baby blest;
Safe is baby, earth’s anguish done,
Keep thee, holy one;
Sleep, my little one, sleep,
Sleep, my little one, sleep.