Sweet Babe, that wrapped in twilight shade,
Upon Thy mother’s lap wast laid;
Grant, holy Jesus, grant that we
May imitate Thine infancy.
And when we seek our lowly bed,
While midnight darkens over our head,
From ravening wolves, kind Shepherd, keep
This little flock of Thy poor sheep.
Speak peace unto our souls, and tell
Of heavenly joys with Thee that dwell;
So shall our spirit, all night long,
Sing to our God her thankful song.
Thus, as the dying day grows dim,
To God we raise our evening hymn;
And laud, with Heaven’s bright angel host,
The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.