  Over the rustic window sill, Peering down on the little crib; Over the snowy pillow-frill, Over the snowy little bib. Scattering rose leaves fresh and sweet; Pure as the baby’s lips and feet. Baby, dream a beautiful dream, Watched by the summer roses bright, That wake to see the starry gleam From the wonderful crown of night, And wait to peer on the baby’s crib, And strew soft leaves on baby’s bib. We wear the styles the roses wore In the summers beyond the Flood, And dyes the same we had before, And our patterns came down from God. We are the same glad roses still, Smiling over the window sill. We ne’er forget the ways we learned There in the sinless Eden Home; Whether we’re loved, or torn and spurned, We smile as Eve’s own garden bloom. Scattering rose-leaves fresh and sweet, For the Beautiful One said “Stay; Tell the children of God’s own love. Breathing forth fragrance all the way; Giving the smiles sent from above.” So we watch for the little crib; Strewing leaves on the baby’s bib. endpaper divider |
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