Hush, hush,
While flowrets blush,
This blossom must repose,
Thy mother's joy,
My infant boy—
No rival beauty knows.
Hush, hush,
On every bush,
While birds are singing shrill;
My little child,
So sweet and mild,
Must now be soft and still.
Hush, hush,
While riv'lets gush,
Refrain thy rising tears,
For every grief,
We'll seek relief,
And soothe thy infant cares.
Hush, hush,
What feelings rush
Within a mother's breast;
Be this her pray'r
That thou may'st share
In heav'n's eternal rest.