SLEEP, BABY, SLEEP! Sleep, baby, sleep! Thy father watches his sheep; Thy mother is shaking the dreamland tree, And down comes a little dream on thee. Sleep, baby, sleep! Sleep, baby, sleep! The large stars are the sheep; The little stars are the lambs, I guess; Sleep, baby, sleep! Our Saviour loves His sheep; He is the Lamb of God on high, -E. Prentiss (from the German). ONE, TWO, THREE. One, two, three, a bonny boat I see, The moon afloat is the bonny boat, the sun set is the sea. Margaret Johnson. THREE LITTLE BUGS IN A BASKET. Three little bugs in a basket, And hardly room for two; And one was yellow, and one was black, And one like me or you : The space was small, no doubt, for all, So what should the three bugs do? Three little bugs in a basket, And hardly crumbs for two; And all were selfish in their hearts, The same as I or you. So the strong one said, "We will eat the bread, And that's what we will do!" Three little bugs in a basket, And the beds but two could hold; And so they fell to quarreling The white, the black, and the gold And two of the bugs got under the rugs, And one was out in the cold. He that was left in the basket, Or a thread to wrap himself withal, Pulled one of the rugs from one of the bugs, So there was war in the basket; Ah! pity 'tis, 'tis true! But he that was frozen and starved, at last Now when bugs live in a basket, And share what comes of beds and crumbs, -Alice Cary. WHENEVER A LITTLE CHILD IS BORN. Whenever a little child is born, All night a soft wind rocks the corn, One more rose-bud shy will unfold, One more grass-blade push through the mould, One more bird's song the air will hold, Somewhere. -Agnes L. Carter. SWEET AND LOW. Sweet and low, sweet and low, 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 Tennyson. THE FERRY FOR SHADOWTOWN. Sway to and fro in the twilight gray; Rest little head, on my shoulder, so; See where the fire-logs glow and spark, There, where the mirror is glancing dim, Those over there on the window-sill. Rock slow, more slow in the dusky light, --Anon. |