Where did you come from, baby dear?

Out of the everywhere into the here.

Where did you get your eyes so blue?

Out of the sky as I came through.

What makes the light in them sparkle and spin?

Some of the starry spikes left in.

Where did you get that little tear?

I found it waiting when I got here.

What makes your forehead so smooth and high?

A soft hand stroked it as I went by.

What makes your cheek like a warm, white rose?

I saw something better than any one know.

Whence that three-corner’d smile of bliss?

Three angels gave me at once a kiss.

Where did you get this pearly ear?

God spoke, and it came out to hear.

Where did you get those arms and hands?

Love made itself into hooks and bands.

Feet, whence did you come, you darling things?

From the same box as the cherubs’ wings.

How did they all come just to be you?

God thought of me and so I grew.

But how did you come to us, you dear?

God thought of you, and so I am here.

In the heart of a seed, buried deep, so deep,

A dear little plant lay fast asleep.

“Wake,” said the sunshine, “and creep to the light.”

“Wake,” said the voice of the rain-drops bright.

The little plant heard and rose to see

What the wonderful outside world might be.

Sleep, baby, sleep!

Thy father watches his sheep;

Thy mother is shaking the dreamland tree,

And down comes 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;

And the gentle 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!

One, two, three, a bonny boat I see,

A silver boat and all afloat upon a rosy sea.

One, two, three, the riddle tell to me.

The moon afloat is the bonny boat, the sunset is the sea.

Three little bugs in a basket,

And hardly room for two;

And one was yellow, and one was black,

And one like me or you;

The space was small, no doubt, for all,

So what should the three bugs do?

Three little bugs in a basket,

And hardly crumbs for two;

And all were selfish in their hearts,

The same as I or you.

So the strong one said, “We will eat the bread,

And that’s what we will do!”

Three little bugs in a basket,

And the beds but two could hold;

And so they fell to quarreling—

The white, the black, and the gold—

And two of the bugs got under the rugs,

And one was out in the cold.

He that was left in the basket,

Without a crumb to chew,

Or a thread to wrap himself withal,

When the wind across him blew,

Pulled one of the rugs from one of the bugs,

And so the quarrel grew.

So there was war in the basket;

Ah! pity ’tis, ’tis true!

But he that was frozen and starved, at last

A strength from his weakness drew,

And pulled the rugs from both the bugs,

And killed and ate them, too!

Now when bugs live in a basket,

Though more than it well can hold,

It seems to me they had better agree—

The black, the white, and the gold—

And share what comes of beds and crumbs,

And leave no bug in the cold.

Whenever a little child is born,

All night a soft wind rocks the corn,

One more butter-cup wakes to the morn,

Somewhere.

One more rose-bud shy will unfold,

One more grass-blade push through the mould,

One more bird’s song the air will hold,

Somewhere.

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.

Sway to and fro in the twilight gray;

This is the ferry for Shadowtown;

It always sails at the end of the day,

Just as the darkness closes down.

Rest little head, on my shoulder, so;

A sleepy kiss is the only fare;

Drifting away from the world, we go,

Baby and I in the rocking-chair.

See where the fire-logs glow and spark,

Glitter the lights of the shadowland,

The raining drops on the window, hark!

Are ripples lapping upon its strand.

There, where the mirror is glancing dim,

A lake lies shimmering, cool and still.

Blossoms are waving above its brim,

Those over there on the window-sill.

Rock slow, more slow in the dusky light,

Silently lower the anchor down:

Dear little passenger, say “Good-night.”

We’ve reached the harbor of Shadowtown.

I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,

And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.

He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;

And I see him jump before me when I jump into my bed.

The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow—

Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;

For he sometimes shoots up taller like an India-rubber ball,

And he sometimes gets so little that there’s none of him at all.

He hasn’t got a notion of how children ought to play,

And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.

He stays so close beside me, he’s a coward, you can see;

I’d think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!

One morning, very early, before the sun was up,

I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;

But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head,

Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.

Just as morn was fading amid her misty rings,

And every stocking was stuffed with childhood’s precious things,

Old Kris Kringle looked round and saw on the elm tree bough

High hung, an oriole’s nest, lonely and empty now.

“Quite like a stocking,” he laughed, “hung up there in the tree,

I didn’t suppose the birds expected a visit from me.”

Then old Kris Kringle who loves a joke as well as the best,

Dropped a handful of snowflakes into the oriole’s empty nest.

The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea

In a beautiful pea-green boat;

They took some honey, and plenty of money

Wrapped up in a five-pound note.

The Owl looked up to the moon above,

And sang to a small guitar,

“O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love!

What a beautiful Pussy you are—

You are,

What a beautiful Pussy you are!”

Pussy said to the owl, “You elegant fowl!

How wonderfully sweet you sing!

Oh, let us be married—too long we have tarried—

But what shall we do for a ring?”

They sailed away for a year and a day

To the land where the Bong-tree grows,

And there in a wood, a piggy-wig stood

With a ring in the end of his nose—

His nose,

With a ring in the end of his nose.

“Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling

Your ring?” Said the piggy, “I will.”So they took it away, and were married next day

By the turkey who lives on the hill.

They dined upon mince and slices of quince,

Which they ate with a runcible spoon,

And hand in hand on the edge of the sand

They danced by the light of the moon—

The moon,

They danced by the light of the moon.

When to the flowers so beautiful the Father gave a name

Back came a little blue-eyed one, all timidly it came;

And, standing at the Father’s feet and gazing in His face

It said, in low and trembling tones and with a modest grace,

“Dear God, the name Thou gavest me, alas, I have forgot.”

The Father kindly looked Him down and said, “Forget-me-not.”

“To-whit! To-whit! To-whee!

Will you listen to me?

Who stole four eggs I laid,

And the nice nest I made?”

“Not I,” said the cow, “moo-oo!

Such a thing I’d never do.

I gave you a wisp of hay,

But I did not take your nest away:

Not I,” said the cow, “moo-oo!

Such a thing I’d never do.”

“Bob-o-link! Bob-o-link!

Now, what do you think?

Who stole a nest away

From the plum tree to-day?”

“Not I,” said the dog, “bow-wow!

I wouldn’t be so mean, I vow.

I gave some hairs the nest to make,

But the nest I did not take.

Not I,” said the dog, “bow-wow!

I wouldn’t be so mean, I vow.”

“Coo-oo! Coo-coo! Coo-coo!

Let me speak a word or two:

Who stole that pretty nest,

From little Yellow-breast?”

“Not I,” said the sheep; “oh, no,

I would not treat a poor bird so;

I gave wool the nest to line,

But the nest was none of mine.

Baa! Baa!” said the sheep; “oh no;

I wouldn’t treat a poor bird so.”

“Caw! Caw!” cried the crow,

“I should like to know

What thief took away

A bird’s nest to-day.”

“Cluck! Cluck!” said the hen,

“Don’t ask me again;

Why, I haven’t a chick

Would do such a trick.

We all gave her a feather,

And she wove them together.

I’d scorn to intrude

On her and her brood.

Cluck! Cluck!” said the hen,

“Don’t ask me again.”

“Chirr-a-whirr! Chirr-a-whirr!

All the birds make a stir.

Let us find out his name,

And all cry, ‘For shame!’”

“I would not rob a bird!”

Said little Mary Green,

“I think I never heard

Of anything so mean!”

“It’s very cruel, too,”

Said little Alice Neal,

“I wonder if he knew

How sad the bird would feel.”

A little boy hung down his head,

And went and hid behind the bed:

For he stole that pretty nest

From little Yellow-Breast;

And he felt so full of shame

He did not like to tell his name.

Two little hands so soft and white,

This is the left—this is the right.

Five little fingers stand on each,

So I can hold a plum or a peach.

But if I should grow as old as you

Lots of little things these hands can do.

O dandelion yellow as gold,

What do you do all day?

I just wait here in the tall green grass

Till the children come to play.

O dandelion yellow as gold,

What do you do all night?

I wait and wait till the cool dews fall

And my hair grows long and white.

And what do you do when your hair is white

And the children come to play?

They take me up in their dimpled hands

And blow my hair away.

A million little diamonds

Twinkled on the trees;

And all the little maidens said,

“A jewel, if you please!”

But while they held their hands outstretched

To catch the diamonds gay,

A million little sunbeams came

And stole them all away.

The daisies white are nursery maids with frills upon their caps;

And daisy buds are little babes they tend upon their laps.

Sing “Heigh-ho!” while the winds sweep low,

Both nurses and babies are nodding JUST SO.

The daisy babies never cry, the nurses never scold;

They never crush the dainty frills about their cheeks of gold;

But pure and white, in gay sunlight

They’re nid-nodding—pretty sight.

The daisies love the golden sun, upon the clear blue sky,

He gazes kindly down on them and winks his jolly eye;

While soft and low, all in a row,

Both nurses and babies are nodding JUST SO.

There surely is a gold mine somewhere underneath the grass,

For dandelions are popping out in every place you pass.

But if you want to gather some you’d better not delay,

For the gold will turn to silver soon and all will blow away.

There are three green eggs in a small brown pocket,

And the breeze will swing and the gale will rock it,

Till three little birds on the thin edge teeter,

And our God be glad and our world be sweeter.