The Lullaby, with Original Engravings

Excerpt

EVENING SONG.

Twilight dews are on the roses,

Little birds are in the nest,

On the green the lamb reposes—

Rest thee, little darling, rest.

While my babe is sweetly sleeping,

Silent stars are bright above,

And the angels' eyes are keeping

Over thee their watch of love.

Precious child! may that blest Saviour

Who for us a child was born,

Guard thee now and guard thee ever—

Keep thee safely, night and morn!

Two little robins made a nest—

'Twas in the warm spring weather;

They built it out of sticks and straws

And little bits of feather.

It was upon an apple bough,

With blossoms all around it;

So neatly wove and fitted in

That no one ever found it.

And there four little birds lay hid,

With nice green leaves to shield them,

And there they peeped and flapped about,

And well the old ones fed them.

And when the hawk comes hovering near,

The speckled hen gives a cry of fear,

And the little chickens, every one,

Up to her in a moment run,

Safely hide beneath her wings.

Oh! the nice old speckled hen,

With her pretty chickens ten.

LULLABY.

There, lullaby, and I will sing to you

A little song about a yellow bird

That made a nest upon a currant bush,

And sung the sweetest that you ever heard,

Lullaby, lullaby!

There were two little birds that built the nest;

One sat and sung upon the garden wall,

The other, with her warm and downy breast,

Covered the eggs so beautiful and small.

Lullaby, lullaby!

One day some little birds came peeping out,

And then they opened wide their mouths for food;

The yellow birds flew down and skipped about,

And brought them something very nice and good.

Lullaby, lullaby!

And so they grew and grew, till puss, one day,

Tore down the pretty nest with sudden rush,

But Johnny saw, and took the birds away,

And placed them in the nest, back on the bush.

Lullaby, lullaby!

The old ones found them safe, poor trembling things;

They smoothed and fed them, and that very day

They taught them how to spread their little wings,

And 'mong the garden trees to soar away.

Lullaby, lullaby?

The snow, the snow is coming,

So graceful and light,

All over every thing,

Beautiful and white.

A thousand, thousand snow-flakes,

They're swimming in the air;

They fall upon the cherry-trees,

And hang like blossoms there.

They are coming, coming, coming,

As far as I can see;

They 'light, like little fairy birds,

Upon the old oak tree.

Each flake of snow is pretty—

A spangle or a gem;

But they melt away in dew-drops—

I can not treasure them.

They melt beneath the sunbeam,

They sink into the ground,

And where they vanish, by-and-by,

Sweet flowers will be found,

And I am told they moisten

And make the flowrets grow;

So, welcome, very welcome,

Are the gentle flakes of snow.

Poor lammie! what a pity

One little foot is hurt,

And the face that was so pretty

Is covered with the dirt!

But up, and never mind it;

A little brook is near—

Among the grass you'll find it—

The water's cool and clear.

I guess you will feel better—

Step in and take a drink;

That shallow brook of water,

With flowers around the brink.