Chapter VI: Part I: Poems of Youth and Age (2)

Do not chew the hemlock rank, Growing on the weedy bank; But the yellow cowslips eat, They will make it very sweet.

Where the purple violet grows, Where the bubbling water flows, Where the grass is fresh and fine, Pretty cow, go there and dine.

Ann Taylor [1782-1866]

THE LAMB

Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee, Gave thee life, and bade thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice? Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee?

Little Lamb, I'll tell thee, Little Lamb, I'll tell thee; He is called by thy name, For He calls Himself a Lamb. He is meek, and He is mild; He became a little child. I a child, and thou a lamb, We are called by His name. Little Lamb, God bless thee! Little Lamb, God bless thee.

William Blake [1757-1827]

LITTLE RAINDROPS

Oh, where do you come from, You little drops of rain, Pitter patter, pitter patter, Down the window-pane?

They won't let me walk, And they won't let me play, And they won't let me go Out of doors at all to-day.

They put away my playthings Because I broke them all, And then they locked up all my bricks, And took away my ball.

Tell me, little raindrops, Is that the way you play, Pitter patter, pitter patter, All the rainy day?

They say I'm very naughty, But I've nothing else to do But sit here at the window; I should like to play with you.

The little raindrops cannot speak, But "pitter, patter pat" Means, "We can play on this side: Why can't you play on that?"

"MOON, SO ROUND AND YELLOW"

Moon, so round and yellow, Looking from on high, How I love to see you Shining in the sky. Oft and oft I wonder, When I see you there, How they get to light you, Hanging in the air:

Where you go at morning, When the night is past, And the sun comes peeping O'er the hills at last. Sometime I will watch you Slyly overhead, When you think I'm sleeping Snugly in my bed.

Matthias Barr [1831-?]

THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT

This is the house that Jack built.

This is the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the dog That worried the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog That worried the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the maiden all forlorn That milked the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog That worried the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the man all tattered and torn That kissed the maiden That milked the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog That worried the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the priest all shaven and shorn That married the man all tattered and torn That kissed the maiden all forlorn That milked the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog That worried the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the cock that crowed in the morn That waked the priest all shaven and shorn That married the man all tattered and torn That kissed the maiden all forlorn That milked the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog That worried the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the farmer sowing his corn That kept the cock that crowed in the morn That waked the priest all shaven and shorn That married the man all tattered and torn That kissed the maiden all forlorn That milked the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog That worried the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.

OLD MOTHER HUBBARD

Old Mother Hubbard Went to the cupboard, To get her poor dog a bone: But when she got there The cupboard was bare, And so the poor dog had none.

She went to the baker's To buy him some bread, But when she came back The poor dog was dead.

She went to the joiner's To buy him a coffin, But when she came back The poor dog was laughing.

She took a clean dish To get him some tripe, But when she came back He was smoking a pipe.

She went to the fishmonger's To buy him some fish, But when she came back He was licking the dish.

She went to the tavern For white wine and red, But when she came back The dog stood on his head.

She went to the hatter's To buy him a hat, But when she came back He was feeding the cat.

She went to the barber's To buy him a wig, But when she came back He was dancing a jig.

She went to the fruiterer's To buy him some fruit, But when she came back He was playing the flute.

She went to the tailor's To buy him a coat, But when she came back He was riding a goat.

She went to the cobbler's To buy him some shoes, But when she came back He was reading the news.

She went to the seamstress To buy him some linen, But when she came back The dog was spinning.

She went to the hosier's To buy him some hose, But when she came back He was dressed in his clothes.

The dame made a curtesy, The dog made a bow, The dame said, "Your servant," The dog said, "Bow-wow."

This wonderful dog Was Dame Hubbard's delight; He could sing, he could dance, He could read, he could write.

She gave him rich dainties Whenever he fed, And built him a monument When he was dead.

THE DEATH AND BURIAL OF COCK ROBIN

Who killed Cock Robin? "I," said the Sparrow, "With my bow and arrow, I killed Cock Robin."

Who saw him die? "I'" said the Fly, "With my little eye, I saw him die."

Who caught his blood? "I," said the Fish, "With my little dish, I caught his blood."

Who'll make his shroud? "I," said the Beetle, "With my thread and needle, I'll make his shroud."

Who'll dig his grave? "I," said the Owl, "With my spade and trowel, I'll dig his grave."

Who'll be the parson? "I," said the Rook, "With my little book. I'll be the parson."

Who'll be the clerk? "I," said the Lark, "I'll say Amen in the dark; I'll be the clerk."

Who'll be chief mourner? "I," said the Dove, "I mourn for my love; I'll be chief mourner."

Who'll bear the torch? "I," said the Linnet, "I'll come in a minute, I'll bear the torch."

Who'll sing his dirge? "I," said the thrush. "As I sing in the bush I'll sing his dirge."

Who'll bear the pall? "We," said the Wren, Both the Cock and the Hen; "We'll bear the pall."

Who'll carry his coffin? "I," said the Kite, "If it be in the night, I'll carry his coffin."

Who'll toll the bell? "I," said the Bull, "Because I can pull, I'll toll the bell."

All the birds of the air Fell to sighing and sobbing When they heard the bell toll For poor Cock Robin.

BABY-LAND

"Which is the way to Baby-land?" "Any one can tell; Up one flight, To your right; Please to ring the bell."

"What can you see in Baby-land?" "Little folks in white-- Downy heads, Cradle-beds, Faces pure and bright!"

"What do they do in Baby-land?" "Dream and wake and play, Laugh and crow, Shout and grow; Jolly times have they!"

"What do they say in Baby-land?" "Why, the oddest things; Might as well Try to tell What a birdie sings!"

"Who is the Queen of Baby-land?" "Mother, kind and sweet; And her love, Born above, Guides the little feet."

George Cooper [1840-1927]

THE FIRST TOOTH

There once was a wood, and a very thick wood, So thick that to walk was as much as you could; But a sunbeam got in, and the trees understood.

I went to this wood, at the end of the snows, And as I was walking I saw a primrose; Only one! Shall I show you the place where it grows?

There once was a house, and a very dark house, As dark, I believe, as the hole of a mouse, Or a tree in my wood, at the thick of the boughs.

I went to this house, and I searched it aright, I opened the chambers, and I found a light; Only one! Shall I show you this little lamp bright?

There once was a cave, and this very dark cave One day took a gift from an incoming wave; And I made up my mind to know what the sea gave.

I took a lit torch, I walked round the ness When the water was lowest; and in a recess In my cave was a jewel. Will nobody guess?

O there was a baby, he sat on my knee, With a pearl in his mouth that was precious to me, His little dark mouth like my cave of the sea!

I said to my heart, "And my jewel is bright! He blooms like a primrose! He shines like a light!" Put your hand in his mouth! Do you feel? He can bite!

William Brighty Rands [1823-1882]

BABY'S BREAKFAST

Baby wants his breakfast, Oh! what shall I do? Said the cow, "I'll give him Nice fresh milk--moo-oo!"

Said the hen, "Cut-dah cut! I have laid an egg For the Baby's breakfast-- Take it now, I beg!"

And the buzzing bee said, "Here is honey sweet. Don't you think the Baby Would like that to eat?"

Then the baker kindly Brought the Baby's bread. "Breakfast is all ready," Baby's mother said;

"But before the Baby Eats his dainty food, Will he not say 'Thank you!' To his friends so good?"

Then the bonny Baby Laughed and laughed away. That was all the "Thank you" He knew how to say.

Emilie Poulsson [1853-

THE MOON

O, look at the moon! She is shining up there; O mother, she looks Like a lamp in the air.

Last week she was smaller, And shaped like a bow; But now she's grown bigger, And round as an O.

Pretty moon, pretty moon, How you shine on the door, And make it all bright On my nursery floor!

You shine on my playthings, And show me their place, And I love to look up At your pretty bright face.

And there is a star Close by you, and maybe That small twinkling star Is your little baby.

Eliza Lee Fallen [1787-1859]

BABY AT PLAY

Brow bender, Eye peeper, Nose smeller, Mouth eater, Chin chopper, Knock at the door--peep in, Lift up the latch--walk in.

Here sits the Lord Mayor, here sit his two men, Here sits the cock, and here sits the hen; Here sit the chickens, and here they go in, Chippety, chippety, chippety, chin.

This little pig went to market; This little pig stayed at home; This little pig got roast beef; This little pig got none; This little pig cried wee, wee, all the way home.

One, two, Buckle my shoe; Three, four, Shut the door; Five, six, Pick up sticks; Seven, eight, Lay them straight; Nine, ten, A good fat hen; Eleven, twelve, Who will delve? Thirteen, fourteen, Maids a-courting; Fifteen, sixteen, Maids a-kissing; Seventeen, eighteen, Maids a-waiting; Nineteen, twenty, My stomach's empty.

THE DIFFERENCE

Eight fingers, Ten toes, Two eyes, And one nose. Baby said When she smelt the rose, "Oh! what a pity I've only one nose!"

Ten teeth In even rows, Three dimples, And one nose. Baby said When she smelt the snuff, "Deary me! One nose is enough."

Laura E. Richards [1850-

FOOT SOLDIERS

'Tis all the way to Toe-town, Beyond the Knee-high hill, That Baby has to travel down To see the soldiers drill.

One, two, three, four, five, a-row-- A captain and his men-- And on the other side, you know, Are six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

John Banister Tabb [1845-1909]

TOM THUMB'S ALPHABET

A was an Archer, who shot at a frog; B was a Butcher, who had a great dog; C was a Captain, all covered with lace; D was a Drunkard, and had a red face; E was an Esquire, with pride on his brow; F was a Farmer, and followed the plow; G was a Gamester, who had but ill luck; H was a Hunter, who hunted a buck; I was an Innkeeper, who loved to bouse; J was a Joiner, who built up a house; K was a King, so mighty and grand; L was a Lady, who had a white hand; M was a Miser, and hoarded his gold; N was a Nobleman, gallant and bold; O was an Oysterman, who went about town; P was a Parson, and wore a black gown; Q was a Quack, with a wonderful pill; R was a Robber, who wanted to kill; S was a Sailor, who spent all he got; T was a Tinker, and mended a pot; U was an Usurer, a miserable elf; V was a Vintner, who drank all himself; W was a Watchman, who guarded the door; X was Expensive, and so became poor; Y was a Youth, that did not love school; Z was a Zany, a poor harmless fool.

GRAMMAR IN RHYME

Three little words, you often see, Are articles A, An, and The. A Noun is the name of anything, As School, or Garden, Hoop, or Swing. Adjectives tell the kind of Noun, As Great, Small, Pretty, White, or Brown. Instead of Nouns the Pronouns stand, Her head, His face, Your arm, My hand. Verbs tell something being done-- To Read, Count, Laugh, Sing, Jump, or Run. How things are done the Adverbs tell, As Slowly, Quickly, Ill, or Well. Conjunctions join the words together-- As men And women, wind Or weather. The Preposition stands before A noun, as In or Through a door, The Interjection shows surprise, As Oh! how pretty! Ah! how wise! The Whole are called nine parts of speech, Which reading, writing, speaking teach.

DAYS OF THE MONTH

Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November; All the rest have thirty-one; February twenty-eight alone,-- Except in leap year, at which time February's days are twenty-nine.

THE GARDEN YEAR

January brings the snow, Makes our feet and fingers glow.

February brings the rain, Thaws the frozen lake again.

March brings breezes, loud and shrill, To stir the dancing daffodil.

April brings the primrose sweet, Scatters daisies at our feet.

May brings flocks of pretty lambs Skipping by their fleecy dams.

June brings tulips, lilies, roses, Fills the children's hands with posies.

Hot July brings cooling showers, Apricots, and gillyflowers.

August brings the sheaves of corn, Then the harvest home is borne.

Warm September brings the fruit; Sportsmen then begin to shoot.

Fresh October brings the pheasant; Then to gather nuts is pleasant.

Dull November brings the blast; Then the leaves are whirling fast.

Chill December brings the sleet, Blazing fire, and Christmas treat.

Sara Coleridge [1802-1852]

RIDDLES

There was a girl in our town, Silk an' satin was her gown, Silk an' satin, gold an' velvet, Guess her name, three times I've telled it. (Ann.)

As soft as silk, as white as milk, As bitter as gall, a thick green wall, And a green coat covers me all. (A walnut.)

Make three fourths of a cross, And a circle complete; And let two semicircles On a perpendicular meet; Next add a triangle That stands on two feet; Next two semicircles, And a circle complete. (TOBACCO.)

Flour of England, fruit of Spain, Met together in a shower of rain; Put in a bag tied round with a string, If you'll tell me this riddle, I'll give you a ring. (A plum-pudding.)

In marble walls as white as milk, Lined with a skin as soft as silk, Within a fountain crystal clear, A golden apple doth appear. No doors there are to this stronghold, Yet thieves break in and steal the gold. (An egg.)

Little Nanny Etticoat, In a white petticoat, And a red nose; The longer she stands, The shorter she grows. (A candle.)

Long legs, crooked thighs, Little head and no eyes. (A pair of tongs.)

Thirty white horses upon a red hill, Now they tramp, now they champ, now they stand still. (The teeth.)

Formed long ago, yet made to-day, Employed while others sleep; What few would like to give away, Nor any wish to keep. (A bed.)

Lives in winter, Dies in summer, And grows with its root upwards. (An icicle.)

Elizabeth, Lizzy, Betsy and Bess, All went together to seek a bird's nest; They found a nest with five eggs in it; They each took one and left four in it.

Thomas a Tattamus took two T's, To tie two tups to two tall trees, To frighten the terrible Thomas a Tattamus! Tell me how many T's there are in all THAT!

Old Mother Twitchett had but one eye, And a long tail which she let fly; And every time she went over a gap, She left a bit of her tail in a trap. (A needle and thread.)

As I went through a garden gap, Who should I meet but Dick Red-Cap! A stick in his hand, a stone in his throat, If you'll tell me this riddle, I'll give you a groat. (A cherry.)

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall; All the king's horses and all the king's men Cannot put Humpty Dumpty together again. (An egg.)

As I was going to St. Ives, I met a man with seven wives, Every wife had seven sacks, Every sack had seven cats, Every cat had seven kits-- Kits, cats, sacks, and wives, How many were going to St. Ives? (One.)

Two legs sat upon three legs, With one leg in his lap; In comes four legs And runs away with one leg; Up jumps two legs, Catches up three legs, Throws it after four legs, And makes him drop one leg. (A man, a stool, a leg of mutton, and a dog.)

PROVERBS

If wishes were horses, Beggars would ride; If turnips were watches, I'd wear one by my side.

A man of words, and not of deeds, Is like a garden full of weeds; For when the weeds begin to grow, Then doth the garden overflow.

He that would thrive Must rise at five; He that hath thriven May lie till seven; And he that by the plough would thrive, Himself must either hold or drive.

A swarm of bees in May Is worth a load of hay; A swarm of bees in June Is worth a silver spoon; A swarm of bees in July Is not worth a fly.

They that wash on Monday Have all the week to dry; They that wash on Tuesday Are not so much awry; They that wash on Wednesday Are not so much to blame; They that wash on Thursday, Wash for shame; They that wash on Friday, Wash in need; And they that wash on Saturday, Oh, they are slovens, indeed.

Needles and pins, needles and pins, When a man marries, his trouble begins.

For every evil under the sun, There is a remedy, or there is none. If there be one, try and find it; If there be none, never mind it.

Tommy's tears, and Mary's fears, Will make them old before their years.

If "ifs" and "ands" Were pots and pans, There would be no need for tinkers!

For want of a nail, the shoe was lost; For want of the shoe, the horse was lost; For want of the horse, the rider was lost; For want of the rider, the battle was lost; For want of the battle, the kingdom was lost; And all from the want of a horseshoe nail.

KIND HEARTS

Kind hearts are the gardens, Kind thoughts are the roots, Kind words are the blossoms, Kind deeds are the fruits; Love is the sweet sunshine That warms into life, For only in darkness Grow hatred and strife.

WEATHER WISDOM

A sunshiny shower Won't last half an hour.

Rain before seven, Fair by eleven.

The South wind brings wet weather, The North wind wet and cold together; The West wind always brings us rain, The East wind blows it back again.

March winds and April showers Bring forth May flowers.

Evening red and morning gray Set the traveller on his way, But evening gray and morning red, Bring the rain upon his head.

Rainbow at night Is the sailor's delight; Rainbow at morning, Sailors, take warning.

OLD SUPERSTITIONS

See a pin and pick it up, All the day you'll have good luck; See a pin and let it lay, Bad luck you will have all day.

Cut your nails on Monday, cut them for news; Cut them on Tuesday, a pair of new shoes; Cut them on Wednesday, cut them for health; Cut them on Thursday, cut them for wealth; Cut them on Friday, cut them for woe; Cut them on Saturday, a journey you'll go; Cut them on Sunday, you'll cut them for evil, For all the next week you'll be ruled by the devil.

Marry Monday, marry for wealth; Marry Tuesday, marry for health; Marry Wednesday, the best day of all; Marry Thursday, marry for crosses; Marry Friday, marry for losses; Marry Saturday, no luck at all.

Sneeze on a Monday, you sneeze for danger; Sneeze on a Tuesday, you'll kiss a stranger; Sneeze on a Wednesday, you sneeze for a letter; Sneeze on a Thursday, for something better; Sneeze on a Friday, you sneeze for sorrow; Sneeze on a Saturday, your sweetheart to-morrow; Sneeze on a Sunday, your safety seek-- The devil will have you the whole of the week.

Monday's child is fair of face, Tuesday's child is full of grace, Wednesday's child is full of woe, Thursday's child has far to go, Friday's child is loving and giving, Saturday's child works hard for its living, And a child that's born on the Sabbath day Is fair and wise and good and gay.

THE ROAD TO SLUMBERLAND

WYNKEN, BLYNKEN, AND NOD Dutch Lullaby

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe,-- Sailed on a river of crystal light Into a sea of dew. "Where are you going, and what do you wish?" The old moon asked the three. "We have come to fish for the herring fish That live in this beautiful sea; Nets of silver and gold have we!" Said Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song, As they rocked in the wooden shoe; And the wind that sped them all night long Ruffled the waves of dew. The little stars were the herring fish That lived in that beautiful sea-- "Now cast your nets wherever you wish,-- Never afeard are we!" So cried the stars to the fishermen three, Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.

All night long their nets they threw To the stars in the twinkling foam,-- Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe, Bringing the fishermen home: 'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed As if it could not be; And some folk thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed Of sailing that beautiful sea; But I shall name you the fishermen three: Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, And Nod is a little head, And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies Is a wee one's trundle-bed; So shut your eyes while Mother sings Of wonderful sights that be, And you shall see the beautiful things As you rock in the misty sea Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:-- Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.

Eugene Field [1850-1895]

THE SUGAR-PLUM TREE

Have you ever heard of the Sugar-Plum Tree? 'Tis a marvel of great renown! It blooms on the shore of the Lollypop sea In the garden of Shut-Eye Town; The fruit that it bears is so wondrously sweet (As those who have tasted it say) That good little children have only to eat Of that fruit to be happy next day.

When you've got to the tree, you would have a hard time To capture the fruit which I sing; The tree is so tall that no person could climb To the boughs where the sugar-plums swing! But up in that tree sits a chocolate cat, And a gingerbread dog prowls below-- And this is the way you contrive to get at Those sugar-plums tempting you so:

You say but the word to that gingerbread dog And he barks with such terrible zest That the chocolate cat is at once all agog, As her swelling proportions attest. And the chocolate cat goes cavorting around From this leafy limb unto that, And the sugar-plums tumble, of course, to the ground-- Hurrah for that chocolate cat!

There are marshmallows, gumdrops, and peppermint canes, With stripings of scarlet or gold, And you carry away of the treasure that rains, As much as your apron can hold! So come, little child, cuddle closer to me In your dainty white nightcap and gown, And I'll rock you away to that Sugar-Plum Tree In the garden of Shut-Eye Town.

Eugene Field [1850-1895]

WHEN THE SLEEPY MAN COMES

When the Sleepy Man comes with the dust on his eyes, (Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!) He shuts up the earth, and he opens the skies. (So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)

He smiles through his fingers, and shuts up the sun; (Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!) The stars that he loves he lets out one by one. (So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)

He comes from the castles of Drowsy-boy Town; (Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!) At the touch of his hand the tired eyelids fall down. (So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)

He comes with a murmur of dream in his wings; (Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!) And whispers of mermaids and wonderful things. (So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)

Then the top is a burden, the bugle a bane; (Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!) When one would be faring down Dream-a-way Lane. (So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)

When one would be wending in Lullaby Wherry, (Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!) To Sleepy Man's Castle, by Comforting Ferry. (So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)

Charles G. D. Roberts [1860-

AULD DADDY DARKNESS

Auld Daddy Darkness creeps frae his hole, Black as a blackamoor, blin' as a mole: Stir the fire till it lowes, let the bairnie sit, Auld Daddy Darkness is no wantit yit.

See him in the corners hidin' frae the licht, See him at the window gloomin' at the nicht; Turn up the gas licht, close the shutters a', An' Auld Daddy Darkness will flee far awa'.

Awa' to hide the birdie within its cosy nest, Awa' to lap the wee flooers on their mither's breast, Awa' to loosen Gaffer Toil frae his daily ca', For Auld Daddy Darkness is kindly to a'.

He comes when we're weary to wean's frae oor waes, He comes when the bairnies are getting aff their claes; To cover them sae cosy, an' bring bonnie dreams, So Auld Daddy Darkness is better than he seems.

Steek yer een, my wee tot, ye'll see Daddy then; He's in below the bed claes, to cuddle ye he's fain; Noo nestle to his bosie, sleep and dream yer fill, Till Wee Davie Daylicht comes keekin' owre the hill.

James Ferguson [18--?]

WILLIE WINKIE

Wee Willie Winkie rins through the town, Upstairs and doon stairs, in his nicht-gown, Tirlin' at the window, cryin' at the lock, "Are the weans in their bed?--for it's noo ten o'clock."

Hey, Willie Winkie! are ye comin' ben? The cat's singin' gay thrums to the sleepin' hen, The doug's speldered on the floor, and disna gie a cheep; But here's a waukrife laddie, that winna fa' asleep.

Onything but sleep, ye rogue!--glowrin' like the moon, Rattlin' in an airn jug wi' an airn spoon, Rumblin', tumblin' roun' about, crawin' like a cock, Skirlin' like a kenna-what--wauknin' sleepin' folk!

Hey, Willie Winkie! the wean's in a creel! Waumblin' aff a bodie's knee like a vera eel, Ruggin' at the cat's lug, and ravellin' a' her thrums: Hey, Willie Winkie!--See, there he comes!

William Miller [1810-1872]

THE SANDMAN

The rosy clouds float overhead, The sun is going down; And now the sandman's gentle tread Comes stealing through the town. "White sand, white sand," he softly cries, And as he shakes his hand, Straightway there lies on babies' eyes His gift of shining sand. Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown, As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.

From sunny beaches far away-- Yes, in another land-- He gathers up at break of day His stone of shining sand. No tempests beat that shore remote, No ships may sail that way; His little boat alone may float Within that lovely bay. Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown, As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.

He smiles to see the eyelids close Above the happy eyes; And every child right well he knows,-- Oh, he is very wise! But if, as he goes through the land, A naughty baby cries, His other hand takes dull gray sand To close the wakeful eyes. Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown, As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.

So when you hear the sandman's song Sound through the twilight sweet, Be sure you do not keep him long A-waiting in the street. Lie softly down, dear little head, Rest quiet, busy hands, Till, by your bed his good-night said, He strews the shining sands. Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown, As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.

Margaret Thomson Janvier [1845-1913]

THE DUSTMAN

When the toys are growing weary, And the twilight gathers in; When the nursery still echoes With the children's merry din; Then unseen, unheard, unnoticed Comes an old man up the stair, Lightly to the children passes, Lays his hand upon their hair.

Softly smiles the good old Dustman; In their eyes the dust he throws, Till their little heads are falling, And their weary eyes must close. Then the Dustman very gently Takes each little dimpled hand Leads them through the sweet green shadows, Far away in slumberland.

Frederic Edward Weatherly [1848-1929]

SEPHESTIA'S LULLABY From "Menaphon"

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee; When thou art old there's grief enough for thee. Mother's wag, pretty boy, Father's sorrow, father's joy; When thy father first did see Such a boy by him and me, He was glad, I was woe; Fortune changed made him so, When he left his pretty boy, Last his sorrow, first his joy.

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee; When thou art old there's grief enough for thee. Streaming tears that never stint, Like pearl-drops from a flint, Fell by course from his eyes, That one another's place supplies; Thus he grieved in every part, Tears of blood fell from his heart, When he left his pretty boy, Father's sorrow, father's joy.

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee; When thou art old there's grief enough for thee. The wanton smiled, father wept, Mother cried, baby leapt; More he crowed, more we cried, Nature could not sorrow hide: He must go, he must kiss Child and mother, baby bliss, For he left his pretty boy, Father's sorrow, father's joy. Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee, When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.

Robert Greene [1560?-1592]

"GOLDEN SLUMBERS KISS YOUR EYES" From "Patient Grissel"

Golden slumbers kiss your eyes, Smiles awake you when you rise. Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry, And I will sing a lullaby. Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

Care is heavy, therefore sleep you, You are care, and care must keep you. Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry, And I will sing a lullaby. Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

Thomas Dekker [1570?-1641?]

"SLEEP, BABY, SLEEP"

Sleep, 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 Spouse thy mother too. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Though thy conception was in sin, A sacred bathing thou hast had; And though thy birth unclean hath been, A blameless babe thou art now made. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

While 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.

When God with us was dwelling here, In little babes He took delight; Such innocents as thou, my dear, Are ever precious in His sight. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

A little infant once was He; And strength in weakness then was laid Upon His Virgin Mother's knee, That power to thee might be conveyed. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

In this thy frailty and thy need He friends and helpers doth prepare, Which thee shall cherish, clothe, and feed, For of thy weal they tender are. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

The King of Kings when He was born, Had not so much for outward ease; By Him such dressings were not worn, Nor such like swaddling-clothes as these. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby sleep.

Within a manger lodged thy Lord, Where oxen lay and asses fed: Warm rooms we do to thee afford, An easy cradle for a bed. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

The wants that He did then sustain Have purchased wealth, my babe, for thee, And by His torments and His pain Thy rest and ease secured be. My baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Thou hast, yet more, to perfect this A promise and an earnest got Of gaining everlasting bliss, Though thou, my babe, perceiv'st it not. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

George Wither [1588-1667]

MOTHER'S SONG

My heart is like a fountain true That flows and flows with love to you. As chirps the lark unto the tree So chirps my pretty babe to me. And it's O! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby.

There's not a rose where'er I seek, As comely as my baby's cheek. There's not a comb of honey-bee, So full of sweets as babe to me. And it's O! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby.

There's not a star that shines on high, Is brighter than my baby's eye. There's not a boat upon the sea, Can dance as baby does to me. And it's O! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby.

No silk was ever spun so fine As is the hair of baby mine. My baby smells more sweet to me Than smells in spring the elder tree. And it's O! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby.

A little fish swims in the well, So in my heart does baby dwell. A little flower blows on the tree, My baby is the flower to me. And it's O! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby.

The Queen has sceptre, crown and ball, You are my sceptre, crown and all. For all her robes of royal silk, More fair your skin, as white as milk. And it's O! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby.

Ten thousand parks where deer do run, Ten thousand roses in the sun, Ten thousand pearls beneath the sea, My babe more precious is to me. And it's O! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby.

Unknown

A LULLABY

Upon my lap my sovereign sits And sucks upon my breast; Meanwhile his love sustains my life And gives my body rest. Sing lullaby, my little boy, Sing lullaby, mine only joy!

When thou hast taken thy repast, Repose, my babe, on me; So may thy mother and thy nurse Thy cradle also be. Sing lullaby, my little boy, Sing lullaby, mine only joy!

I grieve that duty doth not work All that my wishing would, Because I would not be to thee But in the best I should. Sing lullaby, my little boy, Sing lullaby, mine only joy!

Yet as I am, and as I may, I must and will be thine, Though all too little for thy self Vouchsafing to be mine. Sing lullaby, my little boy, Sing lullaby, mine only joy!

Richard Rowlands [fl. 1565-1620]

A CRADLE HYMN

Hush! my dear, lie still and slumber, Holy angels guard thy bed! Heavenly blessings without number Gently falling on thy head.

Sleep, my babe; thy food and raiment, House and home, thy friends provide; All without thy care or payment: All thy wants are well supplied.

How much better thou'rt attended Than the Son of God could be, When from heaven He descended And became a child like thee!

Soft and easy is thy cradle: Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay, When His birthplace was a stable And His softest bed was hay.

Blessed babe! what glorious features-- Spotless fair, divinely bright! Must He dwell with brutal creatures? How could angels bear the sight?

Was there nothing but a manger Cursed sinners could afford To receive the heavenly stranger? Did they thus affront their Lord?

Soft, my child: I did not chide thee, Though my song might sound too hard; 'Tis thy mother sits beside thee, And her arms shall be thy guard.

Yet to read the shameful story How the Jews abused their King, How they served the Lord of Glory, Makes me angry while I sing.

See the kinder shepherds round Him, Telling wonders from the sky! Where they sought Him, there they found Him, With His Virgin mother by.

See the lovely babe a-dressing; Lovely infant, how He smiled! When He wept, the mother's blessing Soothed and hushed the holy child.

Lo, He slumbers in His manger, Where the horned oxen fed; Peace, my darling; here's no danger, Here's no ox anear thy bed.

'Twas to save thee, child, from dying, Save my dear from burning flame, Bitter groans and endless crying, That thy blest Redeemer came.

May'st thou live to know and fear Him, Trust and love Him all thy days; Then go dwell forever near Him, See His face, and sing His praise!

Isaac Watts [1674-1748]

CRADLE SONG

Sleep, sleep, beauty bright, Dreaming in the joys of night; Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep Little sorrows sit and weep.

Sweet babe, in thy face Soft desires I can trace, Secret joys and secret smiles, Little pretty infant wiles.

As thy softest limbs I feel Smiles as of the morning steal O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast Where thy little heart doth rest.

O the cunning wiles that creep In thy little heart asleep! When thy little heart doth wake, Then the dreadful night shall break.

William Blake [1757-1827]

LULLABY

Baloo, loo, lammy, now baloo, my dear, Does wee lammy ken that its daddy's no here? Ye're rocking full sweetly on mammy's warm knee, But daddy's a-rocking upon the salt sea.

Now hushaby, lammy, now hushaby, dear; Now hushaby, lammy, for mother is near. The wild wind is raving, and mammy's heart's sair; The wild wind is raving, and ye dinna care.

Sing baloo, loo, lammy, sing baloo, my dear; Sing baloo, loo, lammy, for mother is here. My wee bairnie's dozing, it's dozing now fine, And O may its wakening be blither than mine!

Carolina Nairne [1763-1845]

LULLABY OF AN INFANT CHIEF

O, hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight, Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright; The woods and the glens, from the towers which we see, They are all belonging, dear babie, to thee. O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo.

O, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows, It calls but the warders that guard thy repose; Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red, Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed. O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo.

O, hush thee, my babie, the time soon will come, When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum; Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may, For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day. O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo.

Walter Scott [1771-1832]

GOOD-NIGHT

Little baby, lay your head On your pretty cradle-bed; Shut your eye-peeps, now the day And the light are gone away; All the clothes are tucked in tight; Little baby dear, good-night.

Yes, my darling, well I know How the bitter wind doth blow; And the winter's snow and rain Patter on the window-pane: But they cannot come in here, To my little baby dear;

For the window shutteth fast, Till the stormy night is past; And the curtains warm are spread Round about her cradle bed: So till morning shineth bright, Little baby dear, good-night.

Jane Taylor [1783-1824]

"LULLABY, O LULLABY"

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, Birds reposing, All sweet things with life are done. Sweet, till dawns the morning sun, Sleep, then kiss those blue eyes dry. Lullaby! O lullaby!

William Cox Bennett [1820-1895]

LULLABY From "The Princess"

Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon; Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon: Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.

Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892]

THE COTTAGER TO HER INFANT

The days are cold, the nights are long, The north-wind sings a doleful song; Then hush again upon my breast; All merry things are now at rest, Save thee, my pretty love!

The kitten sleeps upon the hearth; The crickets long have ceased their mirth; There's nothing stirring in the house Save one wee, hungry, nibbling mouse; Then why so busy thou?

Nay! start not at that sparkling light; 'Tis but the moon that shines so bright On the window-pane bedropped with rain: There, little darling! sleep again, And wake when it is day!

Dorothy Wordsworth [1804-1847]

TROT, TROT!

Every evening Baby goes Trot, trot, to town, Across the river, through the fields, Up hill and down.

Trot, trot, the Baby goes, Up hill and down, To buy a feather for her hat, To buy a woolen gown.

Trot, trot, the Baby goes; The birds fly down, alack! "You cannot have our feathers, dear," They say, "so please trot back."

Trot, trot, the Baby goes; The lambs come bleating near. "You cannot have our wool," they say, "But we are sorry, dear."

Trot, trot, the Baby goes, Trot, trot, to town; She buys a red rose for her hat, She buys a cotton gown.

Mary F. Butts [1836-1902]

HOLY INNOCENTS

Sleep, little Baby, sleep; The holy Angels love thee, And guard thy bed, and keep A blessed watch above thee. No spirit can come near Nor evil beast to harm thee: Sleep, Sweet, devoid of fear Where nothing need alarm thee.

The Love which doth not sleep, The eternal Arms surround thee: The Shepherd of the sheep In perfect love hath found thee. Sleep through the holy night, Christ-kept from snare and sorrow, Until thou wake to light And love and warmth to-morrow.

Christina Georgina Rossetti [1830-1894]

LULLABY From "The Mistress of the Manse"

Rockaby, lullaby, bees in the clover! Crooning so drowsily, crying so low, Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover! Down into wonderland, Down to the under-land Go, oh go! Down into wonderland go!

Rockaby, lullaby, rain on the clover! (Tears on the eyelids that waver and weep!) Rockaby, lullaby--bending it over! Down on the mother-world, Down on the other world, Sleep, oh sleep! Down on the mother-world sleep!

Rockaby, lullaby, dew on the clover! Dew on the eyes that will sparkle at dawn! Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover! Into the stilly world, Into the lily world, Gone! oh gone! Into the lily world gone!

Josiah Gilbert Holland [1819-1881]

CRADLE SONG From "Bitter-Sweet"

What is the little one thinking about? Very wonderful things, no doubt! Unwritten history! Unfathomed mystery! Yet he laughs and cries, and eats and drinks, And chuckles and crows, and nods and winks, As if his head were as full of kinks And curious riddles as any sphinx! Warped by colic, and wet by tears, Punctured by pins, and tortured by fears, Our little nephew will lose two years; And he'll never know Where the summers go;-- He need not laugh, for he'll find it so!

Who can tell what a baby thinks? Who can follow the gossamer links By which the mannikin feels his way Out from the shore of the great unknown, Blind, and wailing, and alone, Into the light of day?-- Out from the shore of the unknown sea, Tossing in pitiful agony;-- Of the unknown sea that reels and rolls, Specked with the barks of little souls,-- Barks that were launched on the other side, And slipped from Heaven on an ebbing tide! What does he think of his mother's eyes? What does he think of his mother's hair? What of the cradle-roof, that flies Forward and backward through the air? What does he think of his mother's breast, Bare and beautiful, smooth and white, Seeking it ever with fresh delight,-- Cup of his life, and couch of his rest? What does he think when her quick embrace Presses his hand and buries his face Deep where the heart-throbs sink and swell With a tenderness she can never tell, Though she murmur the words Of all the birds,-- Words she has learned to murmur well? Now he thinks he'll go to sleep! I can see the shadow creep Over his eyes, in soft eclipse, Over his brow, and over his lips, Out to his little finger-tips! Softly sinking, down he goes! Down he goes! down he goes! See! he is hushed in sweet repose!

Josiah Gilbert Holland [1819-1881]

AN IRISH LULLABY

I've found my bonny babe a nest On Slumber Tree, I'll rock you there to rosy rest, Asthore Machree! Oh, lulla lo! sing all the leaves On Slumber Tree, Till everything that hurts or grieves Afar must flee.

I've put my pretty child to float Away from me, Within the new moon's silver boat On Slumber Sea. And when your starry sail is o'er From Slumber Sea, My precious one, you'll step to shore On Mother's knee.

Alfred Perceval Graves [1846-1931]

CRADLE SONG

I

Lord Gabriel, wilt thou not rejoice When at last a little boy's Cheek lies heavy as a rose, And his eyelids close?

Gabriel, when that hush may be, This sweet hand all heedfully I'll undo, for thee alone, From his mother's own.

Then the far blue highways paven With the burning stars of heaven, He shall gladden with the sweet Hasting of his feet--

Feet so brightly bare and cool, Leaping, as from pool to pool; From a little laughing boy Splashing rainbow joy!

Gabriel, wilt thou understand How to keep his hovering hand-- Never shut, as in a bond, From the bright beyond?--

Nay, but though it cling and close Tightly as a climbing rose, Clasp it only so--aright, Lest his heart take fright.

(Dormi, dormi tu: The dusk is hung with blue.)

II

Lord Michael, wilt not thou rejoice When at last a little boy's Heart, a shut-in murmuring bee, Turns him unto thee?

Wilt thou heed thine armor well-- To take his hand from Gabriel, So his radiant cup of dream May not spill a gleam?

He will take thy heart in thrall, Telling o'er thy breastplate, all Colors, in his bubbling speech, With his hand to each.

(Dormi, dormi tu. Sapphire is the blue: Pearl and beryl, they are called, Chrysoprase and emerald, Sard and amethyst. Numbered so, and kissed.)

Ah, but find some angel word For thy sharp, subduing sword! Yea, Lord Michael, make no doubt He will find it out:

(Dormi, dormi tu! His eyes will look at you.)

III

Last, a little morning space, Lead him to that leafy place Where Our Lady sits awake, For all mothers' sake.

Bosomed with the Blessed One, He shall mind her of her Son, Once so folded from all harms, In her shrining arms.

(In her veil of blue, Dormi, dormi tu.)

So;--and fare thee well. Softly,--Gabriel... When the first faint red shall come, Bid the Day-star lead him home, For the bright world's sake-- To my heart, awake.

Josephine Preston Peabody [1874-1922]

MOTHER-SONG FROM "PRINCE LUCIFER"

White little hands! Pink little feet! Dimpled all over, Sweet, sweet, sweet! What dost thou wail for? The unknown? the unseen? The ills that are coming, The joys that have been?

Cling to me closer, Closer and closer, Till the pain that is purer Hath banished the grosser. Drain, drain at the stream, love, Thy hunger is freeing, That was born in a dream, love, Along with thy being!

Little fingers that feel For their home on my breast, Little lips that appeal For their nurture, their rest! Why, why dost thou weep, dear? Nay, stifle thy cries, Till the dew of thy sleep, dear, Lies soft on thine eyes.

Alfred Austin [1835-1913]

KENTUCKY BABE

'Skeeters am a hummin' on de honeysuckle vine,-- Sleep, Kentucky Babe! Sandman am a comin' to dis little coon of mine,-- Sleep, Kentucky Babe! Silv'ry moon am shinin' in de heabens up above, Bobolink am pinin' fo' his little lady love: Yo' is mighty lucky, Babe of old Kentucky,-- Close yo' eyes in sleep.

Fly away, Fly away, Kentucky Babe, fly away to rest, Fly away, Lay yo' kinky, woolly head on yo' mammy's breast,-- Um--Um--, Close yo' eyes in sleep.

Daddy's in de cane-brake wid his little dog and gun,-- Sleep, Kentucky Babe! 'Possum fo' yo' breakfast when yo' sleepin' time is done,-- Sleep, Kentucky Babe! Bogie man'll catch yo' sure unless yo' close yo' eyes, Waitin' jes outside de doo' to take yo' by surprise: Bes' be keepin' shady, Little colored lady,-- Close yo' eyes in sleep.

Richard Henry Buck [1869-

MINNIE AND WINNIE

Minnie and Winnie slept in a shell. Sleep, little ladies! And they slept well.

Pink was the shell within, silver without; Sounds of the great sea wandered about.

Sleep, little ladies! Wake not soon! Echo on echo dies to the moon.

Two bright stars peeped into the shell. "What are they dreaming of? Who can tell?"

Started a green linnet out of the croft; Wake, little ladies! The sun is aloft.

Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892]

BED-TIME SONG

Sleep, my baby, while I sing Bed-time news of everything. Chickens run to mother hen; Piggy curls up in the pen. In the field, all tired with play, Quiet now the lambkins stay. Kittens cuddle in a heap-- Baby, too, must go to sleep!

Sleep, my baby, while I sing Bed-time news of everything. Now the cows from pasture come; Bees fly home with drowsy hum. Little birds are in the nest, Under mother-bird's soft breast. Over all soft shadows creep-- Baby now must go to sleep.

Sleep, my baby, while I sing Bed-time news of everything. Sleepy flowers seem to nod, Drooping toward the dewy sod; While the big sun's fading light Bids my baby dear good-night. Mother loving watch will keep; Baby now must go to sleep.

Emilie Poulsson [1853-

TUCKING THE BABY IN