Else will the sheep-dog bark and whine,
And bite this naughty child of mine.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
Away! and tend the sheep.
Away, thou black dog, fierce and wild,
And do not wake my little child!
LULLABY! O lullaby!
Baby, hush that little cry!
Light is dying,
Bats are flying
Bees to-day with work have done;
So, till comes the morrow's sun,
Let sleep kiss those bright eyes dry!
Lullaby! O lullaby!
Lullaby! O lullaby!
Hushed are all things far and nigh;
Flowers are closing,
All sweet things with life have done.
Sweet, till dawns the morning sun,
Sleep then kiss those blue eyes dry!
Lullaby! O lullaby!
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 Church thy mother too.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
Whilst 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 threatened are,
And God! and angels are thy friends.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
THE PATTER OF LITTLE FEET.
A ROW of little faces in the bed;
A row of little hands upon the spread;
A row of little roguish eyes all closed;
A row of little naked feet exposed.
A gentle mother leads them in their praise,
Teaching their feet to tread in heavenly ways,
And takes this lull in childhood's tiny tide,
The little errors of the day to chide.
Then tumbling headlong into waiting beds,
Beneath the sheets they hide their timid heads;
Till slumber steals away their idle fears,
And like a peeping bud each face appears.
All dressed like angels in their gowns of white,
They're wafted to the skies in dreams of night;
And heaven will sparkle in their eyes at morn,
And stolen graces all their ways adorn.
THE PATTER OF LITTLE FEET.
Up with the sun in the morning,
Away to the garden he hies,
To see if the sleepy blossoms
Have begun to open their eyes.
THE PATTER OF LITTLE FEET.
Running a race with the wind,
With a step as light and fleet,
Under my window I hear
The patter of little feet.
Now to the brook he wanders
In swift and noiseless flight,
Splashing the sparkling ripples
Like a fairy water-sprite.
No sand under fabled river
Has gleams like his golden hair,
No pearly sea-shell is fairer
Than his slender ankles bare;
Nor the rosiest stem of coral
That blushes in ocean's bed
Is sweet as the flush that follows
Our darling's airy tread.
From a broad window my neighbor
Looks down on our little cot,
And watches the " poor man's blessing"
I cannot envy his lot.
He has pictures, books, and music,
Bright fountains, and noble trees,
Flowers that blossom in roses,
Birds from beyond the seas;
But never does childish laughter
His homeward footsteps greet,
His stately halls ne'er echo
To the tread of innocent feet.
THE PATTER OF LITTLE FEET.
This child is our "speaking picture,"
A birdling that chatters and sings,
Sometimes a sleeping cherub
(Our other one has wings,) His heart is a charmed casket,
Full of all that's cunning and sweet, And no harp-strings hold such music As follows his twinkling feet.
When the glory of sunset opens
The highway by angels trod,
And seems to unbar the city
Whose builder and maker is God,
Close to the crystal portal,
I see by the gates of pearl,
The eyes of our other angel,-
A twin-born little girl.
And I ask to be taught and directed
To guide his footsteps aright,
So that I be accounted worthy
To walk in sandals of light,
And hear amid songs of welcome
From messengers trusty and fleet,
On the starry floor of heaven,
The patter of little feet.
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