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For the window shutteth fast,
Till the stormy night is past;
And the curtains warm are spread
Round about her cradle bed:
So till morning shineth bright,
Little baby dear, good-night.

Jane Taylor (1783–1824)

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Lullaby! O lullaby!
Hushed are all things far and nigh;

Flowers are closing,

Birds reposing,
All sweet things with life are done.
Sweet, till dawns the morning sun,
Sleep, then kiss those blue eyes dry.
Lullaby! O lullaby!

William Cox Bennett (1820-1895)

LULLABY

From "The Princess'

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.

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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 Tennyson (1809-1892)

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;

Then why so busy thou?

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 (1804-1847)

CRADLE SONG

SLEEP, little baby of mine,
Night and the darkness are near,
But Jesus looks down
Through the shadows that frown,
And baby has nothing to fear.

Holy Innocents

81

Shut, little sleepy blue eyes;
Dear little head, be at rest;
Jesus, like you,
Was a baby once, too,
And slept on His own mother's breast.

Sleep, little baby of mine,
Soft on your pillow so white;
Jesus is here
To watch over you, dear,
And nothing can harm you to-night.

0, little darling of mine,
What can you know of the bliss,
The comfort I keep,
Awake and asleep,
Because I am certain of this?

Unknown

HOLY INNOCENTS

SLEEP, little Baby, sleep;

The holy Angels love thee, And guard thy bed, and keep

A blessed watch above thee. No spirit can come near

Nor evil beast to harm thee: Sleep, Sweet, devoid of fear

Where nothing need alarm thee.

The Love which doth not sleep,

The eternal Arms surround thee: The Shepherd of the sheep

In perfect love hath found thee.
Sleep through the holy night,

Christ-kept from snare and sorrow,
Until thou wake to light
And love and warmth to-morrow.

Christina Georgina Rosselli (1830-1894)

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ROCKABY, lullaby, bees in 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 waver and weep!)
Rockaby, lullaby-bending it over!

Down on the mother-world,
Down on the other world,

Sleep, oh sleep!
Down on the mother-world 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 (1819-1881]

CRADLE SONG

From “ Bitter-Sweet"

What is the little one thinking about?
Very wonderful things, no doubt!

Unwritten history!

Unfathomed mystery!
Yet he laughs and cries, and cats and drinks,
And chuckles and crows, and nods and winks,

Cradle Song

83

As if his head were as full of kinks
And curious riddles as any sphinx!

Warped by colic, and wet by tears,
Punctured by pins, and tortured by fears,
Our little nephew will lose two years;

And he'll never know

Where the summers go;-
He need not laugh, for he'll find it so!

Who can tell what a baby thinks?
Who can follow the gossamer links

By which the mannikin feels his way
Out from the shore of the great unknown,
Blind, and wailing, and alone,

Into the light of day?-
Out from the shore of the unknown sea,
Tossing in pitiful agony;-
Of the unknown sea that reels and rolls,
Specked with the barks of little souls, –
Barks that were launched on the other side,
And slipped from Heaven on an ebbing tide!

What does he think of his mother's eyes?
What does he think of his mother's hair?

What of the cradlc-roof, that flies Forward and backward through the air?

What does he think of his mother's breast,
Bare and beautiful, smooth and white,
Seeking it ever with fresh delight,--

Cup of his life, and couch of his rest?
What does he think when her quick embrace
Presses his hand and buries his face
Deep where the heart-throbs sink and swell
With a tenderness she can never tell,

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Though she murmur the words

Of all the birds,
Words she has learned to murmur well?

Now he thinks he'll go to sleep!
I can see the shadow creep
Over his eyes, in soft eclipse,
Over his brow, and over his lips,

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