  decoration 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 yet. 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, 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 in his bosie, sleep and dream yer fill, Till Wee Davie Daylicht comes keekin' owre the hill. James Ferguson. Decoration 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 folks 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 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. Decoration Rockaby, lullaby, bees on 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 struggle and weep! Rockaby, lullaby—bending it over! Down on the mother world, Down on the other world! Sleep, oh 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. Decoration Sleep, My Treasure Sleep, sleep, my treasure, The long day's pleasure Has tired the birds, to their nests they creep; The garden still is Alight with lilies, But all the daisies are fast asleep. Sleep, sleep, my darling, Dawn wakes the starling, The sparrow stirs when he sees day break; But all the meadow Is wrapped in shadow, And you must sleep till the daisies wake! E. Nesbit. Decoration Lullaby of an Infant Chief Oh, hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight, Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright; The woods and the glens from the tower which we see, They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee. Oh, 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. Oh, hush thee, my babie, the time will soon 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. Sir Walter Scott. Decoration Sweet and Low 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, Lord Tennyson. Decoration Old Gaelic Lullaby Hush! the waves are rolling in, White with foam, white with foam; Father toils amid the din; But baby sleeps at home. Hush! the winds roar hoarse and deep,— On they come, on they come! Brother seeks the wandering sheep: But baby sleeps at home. Hush! the rain sweeps o'er the knowes, Where they roam, where they roam; Sister goes to seek the cows; But baby sleeps at home. Unknown. Decoration 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 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 store 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, So when you hear the sandman's song Sound through the twilight sweet, Be sure you do not keep him long A-waiting on 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 Vandegrift. Decoration 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, 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. Decoration A Charm to Call Sleep Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep, Come to my blankets and come to my bed, Come to my legs and my arms and my head, Over me, under me, into me creep. Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep, Blow on my face like a soft breath of air, Lay your cool hand on my forehead and hair, Carry me down through the dream-waters deep. Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep, Tell me the secrets that you alone know, Show me the wonders none other can show, Open the box where your treasures you keep. Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep: Softly I call you; as soft and as slow Come to me, cuddle me, stay with me so, Stay till the dawn is beginning to peep. Henry Johnstone. Decoration Night The snow is white, the wind is cold— The king has sent for my three-year-old. Bring the pony and shoe him fast With silver shoes that were made to last. Bring the saddle trimmed with gold; Put foot in stirrup, my three-year-old; Jump in the saddle, away, away! And hurry back by the break of day; By break of day, through dale and down, And bring me the news from Slumbertown. Mary F. Butts. Decoration Bed-Time 'Tis bed-time; say your hymn, and bid "Good night, "God bless mamma, papa, and dear ones all." Your half-shut eyes beneath your eye-lids fall; Another minute you will shut them quite. Yes, I will carry you, put out the light, And tuck you up, although you are so tall. What will you give me, Sleepy One, and call My wages, if I settle you all right? I laid her golden curls upon my arm, Her rosy palms were joined in trustful bliss, Her heart next mine, beat gently, soft and warm; She nestled to me, and, by Love's command, Paid me my precious wages,—Baby's kiss. Lord Rosslyn. Decoration The mill goes toiling slowly around With steady and solemn creak, And my little one hears in the kindly sound The voice of the old mill speak. While round and round those big white wings Grimly and ghostlike creep, My little one hears that the old mill sings: "Sleep, little tulip, sleep!" The sails are reefed and the nets are drawn, And, over his pot of beer, The fisher, against the morrow's dawn, Lustily maketh cheer; He mocks at the winds that caper along From the far-off clamorous deep— But we—we love their lullaby song Of "Sleep, little tulip, sleep!" Old dog Fritz in slumber sound Groans of the stony mart— To-morrow how proudly he'll trot you round, Hitched to our new milk-cart! And you shall help me blanket the kine And fold the gentle sheep And set the herring a-soak in brine— But now, little tulip, sleep! A Dream-One comes to button the eyes That wearily droop and blink, While the old mill buffets the frowning skies And scolds at the stars that wink; Over your face the misty wings Of that beautiful Dream-One sweep, And rocking your cradle she softly sings: "Sleep, little tulip, sleep!" Eugene Field. Decoration |
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