A FAIRY LULLABY

I half suspect that many men,

And many, many women, too, Could learn a lesson from the hen With foliage of vermilion hue; She ne'er presumed to take offence At any fate that might befall, But meekly bowed to ProvidenceShe was contented-that was all!

A FAIRY LULLABY

THERE are two stars in yonder steeps
That watch the baby while he sleeps.
But while the baby is awake

And singing gayly all day long,
The little stars their slumbers take
Lulled by the music of his song.

So sleep, dear tired baby, sleep
While little stars their vigils keep.

Beside his loving mother-sheep
A little lambkin is asleep;

What does he know of midnight gloom-
He sleeps, and in his quiet dreams
He thinks he plucks the clover bloom
And drinks at cooling, purling streams.
And those same stars the baby knows
Sing softly to the lamb's repose.

Sleep, little lamb; sleep, little child-
The stars are dim-the night is wild;
But o'er the cot and o'er the lea
A sleepless eye forever beams-
A shepherd watches over thee
In all thy little baby dreams;
The shepherd loves his tiny sheep-
Sleep, precious little lambkin, sleep!

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BALLAD OF THE JELLY-CAKE

A LITTLE boy whose name was Tim
Once ate some jelly-cake for tea—
Which cake did not agree with him,
As by the sequel you shall see..
"My darling child," his mother said,
"Pray do not eat that jelly-cake,
For, after you have gone to bed,

I fear 't will make your stomach ache!" But foolish little Tim demurred

Unto his mother's warning word.

That night, while all the household slept, Tim felt an awful pain, and then From out the dark a nightmare leapt And stood upon his abdomen! "I cannot breathe!" the infant cried"Oh, Mrs. Nightmare, pity take!" "There is no mercy," she replied,

"For boys who feast on jelly-cake!" And so, despite the moans of Tim, The cruel nightmare went for him.

At first, she 'd tickle Timmy's toes

Or roughly smite his baby cheek— And now she'd rudely tweak his nose

And other petty vengeance wreak; And then, with hobnails in her shoes And her two horrid eyes aflame, The mare proceeded to amuse

Herself by prancing o'er his frame— First to his throbbing brow, and then Back to his little feet again.

At last, fantastic, wild, and weird,
And clad in garments ghastly grim,
A scowling hoodoo band appeared
And joined in worrying little Tim.

MORNING SONG

Each member of this hoodoo horde

Surrounded Tim with fierce ado
And with long, cruel gimlets bored

His aching system through and through,
And while they labored all night long
The nightmare neighed a dismal song.

Next morning, looking pale and wild,
Poor little Tim emerged from bed—
"Good gracious! what can ail the child!"
His agitated mother said.

"We live to learn," responded he,

"And I have lived to learn to take Plain bread and butter for my tea, And never, never, jelly-cake!

For when my hulk with pastry teems,
I must expect unpleasant dreams!"

MORNING SONG

THE eastern sky is streaked with red,
The weary night is done,

And from his distant ocean bed

Rolls up the morning sun.
The dew, like tiny silver beads
Bespread o'er velvet green,
Is scattered on the wakeful meads
By angel hands unseen.
"Good-morrow, robin in the trees!"

The star-eyed daisy cries;
"Good-morrow," sings the morning breeze
Unto the ruddy skies;
"Good-morrow, every living thing!"

Kind Nature seems to say, And all her works devoutly sing

A hymn to birth of day,

So, haste, without delay,

Haste, fairy friends, on silver wing,

And to your homes away!

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TO A SLEEPING BABY'S EYES

AND thou, twin orbs of love and joy!
Unveil thy glories with the morn—
Dear eyes, another day is born-
Awake, O little sleeping boy!

Bright are the summer morning skies,
But in this quiet little room

There broods a chill, oppressive gloom

All for the brightness of thine eyes.
Without those radiant orbs of thine

How dark this little world would be

This sweet home-world that worships thee—

So let their wondrous glories shine

On those who love their warmth and joy-

Awake, O sleeping little boy.

DREAM, DREAM, DREAM!

DREAM, dream, dream

Of meadow, wood, and stream;
Of bird and bee,

Of flower and tree,

All under the noonday gleam;

Of the song and play

Of mirthful day

Dream, dream, dream!

Dream, dream, dream

Of glamour, glint, and gleam;
Of the hushaby things

The night wind sings

To the moon and the stars abeam;

Of whimsical sights
In the land o' sprites

Dream, dream, dream!

A LULLABY

A LULLABY

THE stars are twinkling in the skies,
The earth is lost in slumbers deep;
So hush, my sweet, and close thine eyes,
And let me lull thy soul to sleep.
Compose thy dimpled hands to rest,
And like a little birdling lie
Secure within thy cosey nest
Upon my loving mother breast
And slumber to my lullaby,
So hushaby-O hushaby.

The moon is singing to a star
The little song I sing to you;
The father sun has strayed afar,
As baby's sire is straying too.
And so the loving mother moon
Sings to the little star on high;
And as she sings, her gentle tune
Is borne to me, and thus I croon
For thee, my sweet, that lullaby
Of hushaby-O hushaby.

There is a little one asleep

That does not hear his mother's song;

But angel watchers-as I weep

Surround his grave the night-tide long.

And as I sing, my sweet, to you,
Oh, would the lullaby I sing-

The same sweet lullaby he knew
While slumb'ring on this bosom too—
Were borne to him on angel's wing!
So hushaby-O hushaby.

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