When from heaven he descended,
And became a child like thee.

Soft and easy is thy cradle:

Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay: When his birthplace was a stable, And his softest bed was hay.

See the kinder shepherds round him,
Telling wonders from the sky!

There they sought him, there they found him,
With his Virgin Mother by.

See the lovely babe a-dressing:

Lovely infant how he smiled!
When he wept, the mother's blessing
Soothed and hushed the holy Child.

Lo, he slumbers in his manger,
Where the hornèd oxen feed;
Peace, my darling, here's no danger,
Here's no ox anear thy bed.

Mayst thou live to know and fear him,
Trust and love him all thy days;
Then go dwell forever near him,
See his face and sing his praise!

I could give thee thousand kisses,
Hoping what I most desire;
Not a mother's fondest wishes
Can to greater joys aspire.

A NURSERY SONG

BY MRS. CARTER

As I walked over the hills one day,

I listened and heard a mother-sheep say: "In all the green world there is nothing so sweet As my little lammie with his nimble feet, With his eyes so bright,

And his wool so white,

Oh, he is my darling, my heart's delight.
The robin, he

That sings in a tree,

Dearly may doat on his darlings four,
But I love my one little lambkin more,"
And the mother-sheep and her little one
Side by side lay down in the sun;

And they went to sleep on the hill-side warm,
While my little lammie lies here on my arm.

I went to the kitchen, and what did I see, But the old gray cat with her kittens three; I heard her whispering soft-said she: "My kittens, with tails all so cunningly curled, Are the prettiest things that can be in the world; The bird on the tree,

And the old ewe she,

May love their babies exceedingly;

But I love my kittens there
Under the rocking-chair,

I love my kittens with all my might.

Which is the prettiest I cannot tell

Which of the three

For the life of me

I love them all so well.

Now I'll take up my kitties, the kitties I love,

And we'll lie down together beneath the warm stove."
Let the kitties sleep under the stove so warm,
While my little darling lies here on my arm.

I went to the yard, and saw an old hen
Go clucking about with her chickens ten.

She clucked, and she scratched, and she bristled away,
And what do you think I heard her say?

I heard her say: "The sun never did shine

On anything like to these chickens of mine.

You may hunt the full moon and the stars, if you

please,

But you never will find ten such chickens as these.
The cat loves her kittens, the ewe loves her lamb,
But they do not know what a proud mother I am;
For lambs, nor for kittens, I won't part with these,
Tho' the sheep and the cats should go down on their

knees;

No! no! not though

The kittens could crow

Or the lammie on two yellow legs could go.
My dear, downy darlings! my sweet little things!
Come nestle now, cosily, under my wing."

So the hen said,

And the chickens all sped

As fast as they could to their nice feather-bed,

And there let them sleep in their feathers so warm, While my little chick nestles here on my arm.

SLEEP, BABY, SLEEP

ANONYMOUS

Sleep, baby, sleep!

Thy father watches the sheep;

Thy mother is shaking the dream-land tree,
And down falls 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,
The fair moon is the shepherdess:
Sleep, baby, sleep!

NOW LET ME LAY THE PEARL AWAY

BY E. PRENTISS

Now let me lay the pearl away,

That on my breast I've worn all day;
How sweet, how soft the casket fair,
Where hides all night my jewel rare.

My snow-white lamb, thy gambols o'er,
Thy sportive limbs must sport no more;
Now to thy rest, let slumber creep
With gentle tread to bid thee sleep.

My winsome one! my heart's delight!
I give thee to the arms of night;
O darksome night! with soft caress
My darling little baby bless.

My heart's delight! my pearl, my lamb!
How rich, how blest, how glad I am!
In sweetest sleep I see thee lie;

Good-bye, good-night! good-night, good-bye!

THE LULLABY OF DANÄE

BY EDMUND C. STEDMAN

Paraphrase on Simonides, 500 B. C.

Little one, thy mother's weeping;
Thou with fresh and holy heart
Slumbering on the ocean art; -
While I sorrow, thou art sleeping,
Though the pallor and the gloom
Our forlorn, frail bark entomb.
Rest thee, rest thee, little one!

Ah! thou needest not a pillow

With those tresses thick and fair! Ah! thou heedest not a billow

Moistening thy tangled hair, Nor the voices of the storm,

But in thy purple mantlet liest warm,

My beautiful, my own!

Rest thee, rest thee, pretty one!