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Oh, they're in the window seat,
Folded very smooth and neat:
When my baby older grows
She shall double up her clothes.

Now one pretty little kiss,
For dressing you as neat as this,
And before we go downstairs,
Don't forget to say your pray'rs,
For 't is God who loves to keep
Little babies in their sleep.

Jane Taylor


(From "The Floweret")

My own mamma!

My dear mamma!
How happy I shall be,
To-morrow night,

At candle-light,

When she comes home to me.

To-morrow night,

At candle-light,—

Yes, that's the time, they say,

That she 'll be here,

Our mother dear, —

How long she's been away.

'Tis just a week,

Since on my cheek
She pressed the parting kiss;
It seems like two,

I never knew
So long a week as this.

My tangled hair

She smoothed with care,

With water bathed my brow;

And all with such

A gentle touch,

There's none to do so now.

I cannot play

When she's away;

There's none to laugh with me;

And much I miss

The tender kiss,— The seat upon her knee.


up to bed

I'm sorrowing led,

I linger on the stairs;

I lie and weep

I cannot sleep

I scarce can say my prayers.

But she will come,

She 'll be at home

To-mcrrow night, and then

I hope that she

Will never be

So long away again.

Anna M. Wells


THEY tell us of an Indian tree

Which howsoe'er the sun and sky May tempt its boughs to wander free, And shoot and blossom, wide and high, Far better loves to bend its arms

Downward again to that dear earth From which the life, that fills and warms Its grateful being, first had birth. 'T is thus, though wooed by flattering friends, And fed with fame (if fame it be), This heart, my own dear mother, bends, With love's true instinct, back to thee!

Thomas Moore


THE bairnies cuddle doon at nicht

Wi' muckle faught an' din;

"Oh try and sleep, ye waukrife rogues, Your faither 's comin' in."

They never heed a word I speak ;
I try to gie a froon,

But aye I hap them up an' cry,
"Oh, bairnies, cuddle doon."

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He aye sleeps next the wa'
Bangs up an' cries, "I want a piece;"
The rascal starts them a'.

I rin and fetch them pieces, drinks,
They stop awee the soun',

Then draw the blankets

up an'


"Noo, weanies, cuddle doon."

But, ere five minutes gang, wee Rab
Cries out, frae 'neath the claes,
"Mither, mak' Tam gie ower at ance,
He's kittlin' wi' his taes."

The mischief's in that Tam for tricks,
He'd bother half the toon;
But aye I hap them up and cry,
"Oh, bairnies, cuddle doon."

At length they hear their father's fit,

An', as he steeks the door, They turn their faces to the wa',

While Tam pretends to snore.

"Hae a' the weans been gude?" he asks, As he pits aff his shoon;

"The bairnies, John, are in their beds, An' lang since cuddled doon."

An' just afore we bed oorsels,
We look at our wee lambs;

Tam has his airm roun' wee Rab's

And Rab his airm round Tam's.

I lift wee Jamie up

the bed,

An' as I straik each croon, I whisper, till my heart fills up, "Oh, bairnies, cuddle doon."

The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht
Wi' mirth that 's dear to me;
But soon the big warl's cark an' care
Will quaten doon their glee.
Yet, come what will to ilka ane,
May He who rules aboon

Aye whisper, though their pows be


"Oh, bairnies, cuddle doon."

Alexander Anderson


SAFE sleeping on its mother's breast

The smiling babe appears,

Now sweetly sinking into rest;

Now washed in sudden tears:

Hush, hush, my little baby dear,
There's nobody to hurt you here.

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