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.

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.

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
His gift of shining sand.

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,

As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.

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.

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.

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, me, into me creep.

Over me,

under me,

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.