1 Sweet Babe, that wrapped in twilight shade,
Upon Thy mother’s lap wast laid;
Grant, holy Jesus, grant that we
May imitate Thine infancy.

2 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.

3 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.

4 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.