8

CRADLE SONG.

CRADLE SONG.

SLEEP, baby, sleep!

Thy father watches the sheep,

Thy mother is shaking the dream-land tree,
And down falls a little dream on thee;
Sleep, baby, sleep!

Sleep, baby, sleep!

The large stars are the sheep,
The little stars are the lambs, I guess,
The fair moon is the shepherdess ;
Sleep, baby, sleep!

Sleep, baby, sleep!

Our Saviour loves his sheep;

He is the Lamb of God on high,

Who for our sakes came down to die.

Sleep, baby, sleep!

Sleep, baby, sleep!

I'll buy for thee a sheep,
With a golden bell so fine to see,

And it shall frisk and play with thee,
Sleep, baby, sleep!

Sleep, baby, sleep!

And cry not like a sheep;

LULLABY.

Else will the sheep-dog bark and whine,
And bite this naughty child of mine.

Sleep, baby, sleep!

Sleep, baby, sleep!

Away! and tend the sheep.

Away, thou black dog, fierce and wild,
And do not wake my little child!

Sleep, baby, sleep!

SONG FROM THE GERMAN.

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 have done.
Sweet, till dawns the morning sun,

Sleep then kiss those blue eyes dry!
Lullaby! O lullaby!

WM. C. BENNETT.

9

10

A ROCKING HYMN.

A ROCKING HYMN.

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.

GEORGE WITHER.

THE PATTER OF LITTLE FEET.

THE LITTLE ONES IN BED.

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' afted to the skies in dreams of night;
And aveli y ....1 sparkle in their eyes at morn,
And stolen graces all their ways adorn.

ut

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.

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12

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.