JAPANESE LULLABY

SLEEP, little pigeon, and fold your wings,Little blue pigeon with velvet eyes;

Sleep to the singing of mother-bird swinging

Swinging the nest where her little one lies.

Away out yonder I see a star,-
Silvery star with a tinkling song;
To the soft dew falling I hear it calling-
Calling and tinkling the night along.

In through the window a moonbeam

comes,

Little gold moonbeam with misty wings; All silently creeping, it asks: "Is he sleep

Up from the sea there floats the sob

Of the waves that are breaking upon the

shore,

As though they were groaning in anguish, and moaning

Bemoaning the ship that shall come no

more.

But sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings,

Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes; Am I not singing? - see, I am swinging

Swinging the nest where my darling

lies.

Eugene Field

THE COTTAGER'S LULLABY

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;
Then why so busy thou?

Nay, start not at that sparkling light;
"T is but the moon that shines so bright
On the window-pane bedropped with rain;
Then, little darling! sleep again,

And wake when it is day.

Dorothy Wordsworth

SWEDISH MOTHER'S LULLABY

THERE sitteth a dove, so fair and white,
All on a lily spray;

And she listeneth how to the Saviour above
The little children pray.

Lightly she spreads her friendly wings,
And to heaven's gate hath sped,
And unto the Father in heaven she bears
The prayers the children have said.

And back she comes from heaven's gate,
And brings that dove so mild -

From the Father in heaven, who hears her

speak,

A blessing for every child.

Frederika Bremer

THE ROAD TO SLUMBER-LAND

WHAT is the road to slumber-land and when does the baby go?

The road lies straight through mother's arms when the sun is sinking low.

He goes by the drowsy land of nod to the music of lullaby,

When all wee lambs are safe in the fold, under the evening sky.

A soft little nightgown clean and white; a face washed sweet and fair;

A mother brushing the tangles out of the silken, golden hair.

Two little tired, satiny feet, from shoe and stocking free;

Two little palms together clasped at the mother's patient knee.

Some baby words that are drowsily lisped to the tender Shepherd's ear;

And a kiss that only a mother can place on the brow of her baby dear.

A little round head that nestles at last close to the mother's breast,

And then the lullaby soft and low, singing the song of rest.

And closer and closer the blue-veined lids are hiding the baby eyes,

As over the road to slumber-land the dear little traveler hies.

For this is the way, through mother's arms, all little babies go

To the beautiful city of slumber-land when the sun is sinking low.

Mary Dow Brine

787220

WYNKEN, BLYNKEN, AND NOD

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.