There Was an Old Woman

MOTHER GOOSE CONTINUEDBY ANNA MARION SMITHPussy cat Pussy cat“What did you say when you’d made your best bow?”“I opened my mouth and remarked ‘miaow.’”“What did the Queen say in answer to that?”“She screamed a little, and then she said, ‘SCAT!’”Little Boy BlueLittle boy Blue, awake, awake,And see how merry your charges make!Through field and garden their course they steer,And the mischief they’re doing,—oh dear, oh dear!pat a cakeHurry it, hurry it, baker’s man;Bring it to us as quick as you can.I hope it has raisins by way of surprise,And little black currants that look just like eyes.Here it comes, here it comes, baby mine.Never was cake that was half so fine;Brown as a berry, and hot from the pan,—Thank you, oh thank you, you good baker’s man!Hickory, dickory, dock,Again he tried the clock,This time,—don’t frown,—Theclockran down!Hickory, dickory, dock.How shall I go to Babylon?Who will tell me true?Oh, there are trains, and there are boats,And automobiles too.And one may ride a bicycle,Or go in a balloon;Or one may travel on his feetAnd get there ’most as soon.For trains go off the track, you see,And boats go down below;And automobiles go to smashIn ways that none may know.And tires of bicycles go pop,Balloons will go and balk,So taking all in all, I thinkIf I were you, I’d walk.Hear, hear, they’re drawing near!Just hark to the tramp of feet!So haste about, set tables out,And get them food to eat.Run, run, the turkey’s done!I hope it is nicely dressed,For those who shirk and will not workAre sure to want the best.There Was an Old WomanThere was an old woman who lived in a shoe.She had so many children she didn’t know what to do;She gave them some broth without any bread;She whipped them all soundly, and put them to bed.from a drawing by p. vinton brownNow it happened that Santa Claus,Passing that way,Peeped into the shoe topAnd saw how they lay—With their round, rosy facesAll shining with tears,And resolved to do somethingTo comfort the dears.So while they were sleepingIn woful array,He bundled those childrenRight into his sleigh;And cracking his whipAs his reindeers sped forth,Away they all flewTo his home in the North.What wonders he showed them,Such beautiful toys!Such dolls for the girls,And such drums for the boys!Such farms and such stables,Such monkeys and bears,Such dishes and tablesAnd tiny dolls’ chairs!And when they had seenAll the wonderful thingsWhich each winter, at Christmas,Dear Santa Claus brings,He gave them, to makeTheir enchantment complete,Just all of the candyAnd cake they could eat.When they told of their travels,Their mother, it seems,Only laughed, and declaredThey were nothing but dreams.I am sure, though, thingsmustHave occurred as they say,Else why were they, all of them,Ill the next day?Humpty DumptyIThere he lay, stretched out on the ground,While all the company gathered around;When, valiantly stifling his tears and his groans,He sadly addressed them in quavering tones.II“Friends,” said Humpty, wiping his eyes,“This sudden descent was an awful surprise.It inclines me to think,—you may laugh at my views,—That a seat that is humble is safest to choose.III“All are not fitted to sit on a wall,Some have no balance, and some are too small;Many have tried it and found, as I guess,They’ve ended, like me, in a terrible mess.IV“Hark, you horses, and all you king’s men!Hear it, and never forget it again!’Tis those who are patient in seats that are low,Who some day get up in high places and crow.”VThen they took him and put him to bed.I hope you’ll remember the things that he said;For all the king’s horses and all the king’s menNever once thought of his sermon again.This noble queen, with mind serene,Then made a mammoth cake.The naughty knave for cake did crave,And off with it did make.The haughty king, for punishing,Would have him eat it all,Which made the knave—unhappy slave—Too sick to speak or crawl.Since then, at ease, their majestiesEat pastries every day.The knave affirms his stomach squirms,And looks the other way.Alas, alas, to such a passDoth gluttony invite!’Tis very sad to be so bad,And lose one’s appetite.Next day the queen, with lofty mien,Prepared some lovely pies.The feeble knave side-glances gaveAt them with longing eyes.The cruel king, with mocking fling,Said: “Do, now, have some pie!”The qualmish knave, no longer brave,Could only groan, “Not I.”This morning as I wanderedTo enjoy the charming weather,I met a man in goggles and a modern suit of leather.He began to toot a horn and I began to run,He knocked me flat nor cared for that;And down the road he spun.IOOD Queen Kate was his royal mate,And a right royal mate was she:She would frequently state that carousing till lateWas something that never should be.But every fiddler had such a fine fiddle,—Oh, such a fine fiddle had he,—That old King Cole, in his inmost soul,Was as restive as he could be.IIHEN thus spoke she to his majesty,He planted his crown on tight.“We will wait,” whispered he to the fiddlers three,“Till the Queen has retired for the night.”Every fiddler then tuned up his fiddle,And tuned it as true as could be:While old King Cole got his pipe and bowlAnd replenished them secretly.IIIO gay they grew as the night hours flew,He forgot how the time sped away;Till swift overhead he heard the Queen’s treadAs she sprang out of bed, when he hurriedly saidThey might finish the tune the next day.Every fiddler he had a fine fiddle,And a very fine fiddle had he:Oh, ’t was not fair such a concert rareShould be ended so suddenly!“Fy, pussy, what a lazy cat,On such a pleasant dayTo sit and drowse beside the fireAnd sleep the hours away!A self-respecting dog would thinkHimself a sorry cur,If he did nothing all day longBut fold his arms and purr!”“Now, sir, you needn’t criticizeBecause I sit and blink,For while my eyes are shut, like this,I think, and think, and think.And when I purr, please understandI work with all my might,A-humming over songs I singWhen I go out at night.“Excuse me. Now I’ll close my eyes,And think a little more.On busy days like this, I showMy visitors the door.’T is only little dogs who judgeThat one must idle be,Unless one’s chasing round and roundOr barking up a tree.”But never a word of plaint will be heardFrom robin, no matter how tired and cold;For well will he know that the winterwill go,And the blossoms and greenness ofspring unfold.And when the warm sun says winteris done,He’ll gladden us all with his cheerysong;And never will fret if the season is wet,Or wail that the winter was hard and long.I bought a little carriageAnd took him out to ride,And yet with all my effortsHe wasn’t satisfied.I never would have married,Now this I do declare,—If I’d supposed a husbandWas such an awful care.This clever man then hastened onAnd bought a pair of shears,But when he tried to cut with them,He snipped off both his ears.And when he heard his ears were off,(’T was told him o’er and o’er),He seized the shears and snipped them backAs they had been before.“Because,” said he, “wise men like me,Who travel round about,And keep their eyes, and use them well,May find some people out.And if they also use their ears,And hark what hearsay brings,They’re likewise pretty sure to hearSome very funny things.”See saw, steady and slow!Other places there are, I know,But they are not worth the trouble to go,For Boston people have told me so.Sing a song o’ sixpenceA pocket full of rye;I know another blackbirdBaked in a pie.The maid it was who baked itWith all her might and main,Resolved there’d be one blackbirdThat shouldn’t nip again.I never will dress her again, that is sure.Her scratches, you see, are not easy to cure.And I find that it takes much more time than you’d guess,To sew up the rents in my dolly’s best dress.I’d give a good deal, if it wasn’t for that,To see how she’d look in my dolly’s new hat.But no, I’ll not try it, you never can tell;And politeness is best till one’s scratches get well.Jack Horner had three brothers,Their names were Horner, too—One was James, and one was George,And the little one was Hugh.And they always did exactlyWhat they saw Jackie do—James and George and the littlest one,The one whose name was Hugh.So when Jack’s Christmas pie was made,They made three others, too—One for James, and one for George,And a little one for Hugh.Andtheysat up in corners,As they’d seen Jackie do—James and George and the littlest one,The one whose name was Hugh.I’m sure ’t wasverylucky(Does it not seem so to you?)That the room had just four cornersForFor if Jackie had a corner,Theremustbe corners, too,For James and George and the littlest one,The one whose name was Hugh.JINGLESTHERE WAS A MAN IN OUR TOWNThere was a man in our town,And all he did each dayWas to skip and hop along the streetsAnd on a trumpet play.————A MOST WONDERFUL SIGHTThe most wonderful sight I ever did seeWas an owl on the branch of our old oak-tree;His eyes were so large and his head was so smallThat he seemed all eyes and no head at all.SAILINGAfloat, afloat, in a golden boat!Hoist the sail to the breeze!Steer by a star to lands afarThat sleep in the southern seas,And then come home to our teas!An up to date pussy catMISERY IN COMPANYThe rain is falling,The fire is out!Jane has the toothache,John has the gout!COURT NEWSBy Lucy Fitch PerkinsThe king and queen went out to-day,A-riding on a load of hay.The king fell off and lost his crown,The queen fell, too, and tore her gown.Old Mother GooseA message to mother goose

MOTHER GOOSE CONTINUED

BY ANNA MARION SMITH

Pussy cat Pussy cat

“What did you say when you’d made your best bow?”“I opened my mouth and remarked ‘miaow.’”“What did the Queen say in answer to that?”“She screamed a little, and then she said, ‘SCAT!’”

Little Boy Blue

Little boy Blue, awake, awake,And see how merry your charges make!Through field and garden their course they steer,And the mischief they’re doing,—oh dear, oh dear!

pat a cake

Hurry it, hurry it, baker’s man;Bring it to us as quick as you can.I hope it has raisins by way of surprise,And little black currants that look just like eyes.

Here it comes, here it comes, baby mine.Never was cake that was half so fine;Brown as a berry, and hot from the pan,—Thank you, oh thank you, you good baker’s man!

Hickory, dickory, dock,Again he tried the clock,This time,—don’t frown,—Theclockran down!Hickory, dickory, dock.

How shall I go to Babylon?Who will tell me true?Oh, there are trains, and there are boats,And automobiles too.

And one may ride a bicycle,Or go in a balloon;Or one may travel on his feetAnd get there ’most as soon.

For trains go off the track, you see,And boats go down below;And automobiles go to smashIn ways that none may know.

And tires of bicycles go pop,Balloons will go and balk,So taking all in all, I thinkIf I were you, I’d walk.

Hear, hear, they’re drawing near!Just hark to the tramp of feet!So haste about, set tables out,And get them food to eat.

Run, run, the turkey’s done!I hope it is nicely dressed,For those who shirk and will not workAre sure to want the best.

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe.She had so many children she didn’t know what to do;She gave them some broth without any bread;She whipped them all soundly, and put them to bed.from a drawing by p. vinton brown

Now it happened that Santa Claus,Passing that way,Peeped into the shoe topAnd saw how they lay—With their round, rosy facesAll shining with tears,And resolved to do somethingTo comfort the dears.

So while they were sleepingIn woful array,He bundled those childrenRight into his sleigh;And cracking his whipAs his reindeers sped forth,Away they all flewTo his home in the North.

What wonders he showed them,Such beautiful toys!Such dolls for the girls,And such drums for the boys!Such farms and such stables,Such monkeys and bears,Such dishes and tablesAnd tiny dolls’ chairs!And when they had seenAll the wonderful thingsWhich each winter, at Christmas,Dear Santa Claus brings,He gave them, to makeTheir enchantment complete,Just all of the candyAnd cake they could eat.

When they told of their travels,Their mother, it seems,Only laughed, and declaredThey were nothing but dreams.I am sure, though, thingsmustHave occurred as they say,Else why were they, all of them,Ill the next day?

IThere he lay, stretched out on the ground,While all the company gathered around;When, valiantly stifling his tears and his groans,He sadly addressed them in quavering tones.

II“Friends,” said Humpty, wiping his eyes,“This sudden descent was an awful surprise.It inclines me to think,—you may laugh at my views,—That a seat that is humble is safest to choose.

III“All are not fitted to sit on a wall,Some have no balance, and some are too small;Many have tried it and found, as I guess,They’ve ended, like me, in a terrible mess.

IV“Hark, you horses, and all you king’s men!Hear it, and never forget it again!’Tis those who are patient in seats that are low,Who some day get up in high places and crow.”

VThen they took him and put him to bed.I hope you’ll remember the things that he said;For all the king’s horses and all the king’s menNever once thought of his sermon again.

This noble queen, with mind serene,Then made a mammoth cake.The naughty knave for cake did crave,And off with it did make.The haughty king, for punishing,Would have him eat it all,Which made the knave—unhappy slave—Too sick to speak or crawl.

Since then, at ease, their majestiesEat pastries every day.The knave affirms his stomach squirms,And looks the other way.Alas, alas, to such a passDoth gluttony invite!’Tis very sad to be so bad,And lose one’s appetite.

Next day the queen, with lofty mien,Prepared some lovely pies.The feeble knave side-glances gaveAt them with longing eyes.The cruel king, with mocking fling,Said: “Do, now, have some pie!”The qualmish knave, no longer brave,Could only groan, “Not I.”

This morning as I wanderedTo enjoy the charming weather,I met a man in goggles and a modern suit of leather.He began to toot a horn and I began to run,He knocked me flat nor cared for that;And down the road he spun.

IOOD Queen Kate was his royal mate,And a right royal mate was she:She would frequently state that carousing till lateWas something that never should be.But every fiddler had such a fine fiddle,—Oh, such a fine fiddle had he,—That old King Cole, in his inmost soul,Was as restive as he could be.

IIHEN thus spoke she to his majesty,He planted his crown on tight.“We will wait,” whispered he to the fiddlers three,“Till the Queen has retired for the night.”Every fiddler then tuned up his fiddle,And tuned it as true as could be:While old King Cole got his pipe and bowlAnd replenished them secretly.

IIIO gay they grew as the night hours flew,He forgot how the time sped away;Till swift overhead he heard the Queen’s treadAs she sprang out of bed, when he hurriedly saidThey might finish the tune the next day.Every fiddler he had a fine fiddle,And a very fine fiddle had he:Oh, ’t was not fair such a concert rareShould be ended so suddenly!

“Fy, pussy, what a lazy cat,On such a pleasant dayTo sit and drowse beside the fireAnd sleep the hours away!A self-respecting dog would thinkHimself a sorry cur,If he did nothing all day longBut fold his arms and purr!”

“Now, sir, you needn’t criticizeBecause I sit and blink,For while my eyes are shut, like this,I think, and think, and think.And when I purr, please understandI work with all my might,A-humming over songs I singWhen I go out at night.

“Excuse me. Now I’ll close my eyes,And think a little more.On busy days like this, I showMy visitors the door.’T is only little dogs who judgeThat one must idle be,Unless one’s chasing round and roundOr barking up a tree.”

But never a word of plaint will be heardFrom robin, no matter how tired and cold;

For well will he know that the winterwill go,And the blossoms and greenness ofspring unfold.

And when the warm sun says winteris done,He’ll gladden us all with his cheerysong;And never will fret if the season is wet,Or wail that the winter was hard and long.

I bought a little carriageAnd took him out to ride,And yet with all my effortsHe wasn’t satisfied.I never would have married,Now this I do declare,—If I’d supposed a husbandWas such an awful care.

This clever man then hastened onAnd bought a pair of shears,But when he tried to cut with them,He snipped off both his ears.And when he heard his ears were off,(’T was told him o’er and o’er),He seized the shears and snipped them backAs they had been before.

“Because,” said he, “wise men like me,Who travel round about,And keep their eyes, and use them well,May find some people out.And if they also use their ears,And hark what hearsay brings,They’re likewise pretty sure to hearSome very funny things.”

See saw, steady and slow!Other places there are, I know,But they are not worth the trouble to go,For Boston people have told me so.

Sing a song o’ sixpenceA pocket full of rye;I know another blackbirdBaked in a pie.The maid it was who baked itWith all her might and main,Resolved there’d be one blackbirdThat shouldn’t nip again.

I never will dress her again, that is sure.Her scratches, you see, are not easy to cure.And I find that it takes much more time than you’d guess,To sew up the rents in my dolly’s best dress.

I’d give a good deal, if it wasn’t for that,To see how she’d look in my dolly’s new hat.But no, I’ll not try it, you never can tell;And politeness is best till one’s scratches get well.

Jack Horner had three brothers,Their names were Horner, too—One was James, and one was George,And the little one was Hugh.And they always did exactlyWhat they saw Jackie do—James and George and the littlest one,The one whose name was Hugh.

So when Jack’s Christmas pie was made,They made three others, too—One for James, and one for George,And a little one for Hugh.Andtheysat up in corners,As they’d seen Jackie do—James and George and the littlest one,The one whose name was Hugh.

I’m sure ’t wasverylucky(Does it not seem so to you?)That the room had just four corners

For

For if Jackie had a corner,Theremustbe corners, too,For James and George and the littlest one,The one whose name was Hugh.

THERE WAS A MAN IN OUR TOWN

There was a man in our town,And all he did each dayWas to skip and hop along the streetsAnd on a trumpet play.

————

A MOST WONDERFUL SIGHT

The most wonderful sight I ever did seeWas an owl on the branch of our old oak-tree;His eyes were so large and his head was so smallThat he seemed all eyes and no head at all.

SAILING

Afloat, afloat, in a golden boat!Hoist the sail to the breeze!Steer by a star to lands afarThat sleep in the southern seas,And then come home to our teas!

An up to date pussy cat

MISERY IN COMPANY

The rain is falling,The fire is out!Jane has the toothache,John has the gout!

COURT NEWSBy Lucy Fitch Perkins

The king and queen went out to-day,A-riding on a load of hay.The king fell off and lost his crown,The queen fell, too, and tore her gown.

Old Mother Goose

A message to mother goose

Sleepy Time Songs and Stories

sweet and lowTHE SLEEPY-TIME STORY[C]BY GERTRUDE SMITHOne night Arabella and Araminta’s mamma was sewing, and their papa was reading his newspaper. And there was a fire in the grate—a warm, bright fire in the grate.And Arabella sat on the rug before the fire, and Araminta sat on the rug before the fire.And Arabella was playing with her little white kitty, and Araminta was playing with her little black kitty.And Arabella’s little white kitty’s name was Annabel, and Araminta’s little black kitty’s name was Lillabel.Arabella had a little red ball fastened to a long string, and Araminta had a little blue ball fastened to a long string. Arabella would roll her ball, and her little white kitty would run and jump for it. And Araminta would roll her ball, and her little black kitty would run and jump for it.The kittens were so cunning and funny, and they were having such a splendid time.Sometimes when Arabella’s kitty would run very fast, or jump very high, Arabella would laugh until she tumbled right over on the floor.And sometimes when Araminta’s kitty would run very fast, or jump very high, Araminta would laugh until she would tumble right over on the floor.Oh, they were having a splendid time.But all at once their mamma looked up from her sewing, and said, “Good-night, Arabella. Good-night, Araminta. The clock is on the stroke of eight.”And their papa looked up from his paper, and said, “Yes, good-night, Arabella. Good-night, Araminta. The clock is on the stroke of eight.”And Arabella said, “Oh, must we go to bed right now?”And Araminta said, “Oh, must we go to bed right now?”And their papa said, “Yes, indeed; yes, indeed. Good-night, Arabella. Good-night, Araminta. The clock is on the stroke of eight.”Always, when it was bedtime, their papa and mamma would say, “Good-night, Arabella. Good-night, Araminta.”And sometimes they were good, and sometimes they were bad; but they always ran away to bed.And their dear mamma always went with them and tucked them in and kissed them, and then came away downstairs and left them. And sometimes they were good, and sometimes they were bad; but they always went to sleep.But to-night their mamma said,“Run and get your nighties, dears,And get each a flannel gown,And we’ll sit and rock you here,Till you go to sleepy-town.”And Arabella ran upstairs and got her nighty and her little flannel gown. And Araminta ran upstairs and got her nighty and her little flannel gown. And their mamma undressed Arabella, and their papa undressed Araminta.Arabella’s little flannel gown was red, and Araminta’s little flannel gown was pink. When they had put them on over their nighties they were just as warm as toast.Arabella’s kitty was playing with Araminta’s kitty on the rug before the fire. They were rolling and tumbling and chasing each other, and they looked so cunning and sweet.And Arabella’s mamma took Arabella on her lap, and Araminta’s papa took Araminta on his lap.Arabella said, “Oh, I want my kitty in my lap, mamma!”And Araminta said, “Oh, I want my kitty in my lap, papa!”So they jumped down and caught the kitties.Their mamma rocked Arabella, and their papa rocked Araminta; and they sang to them,“Now a nice little rock,And never mind the clock,Now a nice little rock,And never mind the clock!”And they sang it over, and over, and over.“Now a nice little rock,And never mind the clock,Now a nice little rock,And never mind the clock!”And Arabella cuddled in her mamma’s arms, and hugged her little kitty close; and Araminta cuddled in her papa’s arms, and hugged her little kitty close.And their mamma sang, and their papa sang;“Now she goes to sleepy-town, sleepy-town, sleepy-town;Cuddled in her little gown, here she goes to sleepy-town.”And they sang it over, and over, and over.“Now she goes to sleepy-town, sleepy-town, sleepy-town;Cuddled in her little gown, here she goes to sleepy-town.”And very soon Arabella could only just hear her mamma singing, and very soon Araminta could only just hear her papa singing, “Sleepy-town, sleepy-town.” And soon they couldn’t hear them at all. They were sound asleep!And their mamma looked at their papa, and said, “Our precious little dears are both sound asleep.”And their papa said, “Yes, our little pets have both reached sleepy-town.”And Arabella’s mamma carried her upstairs and put her in her little bed, and Araminta’s papa carried her upstairs and put her in her little bed. And Arabella was hugging her white kitty up close in her arms and Araminta was hugging her black kitty up close in her arms. And the kitties were both sound asleep, too.But Arabella’s kitty and Araminta’s kitty did not sleep with them all night—oh, no indeed! They had a nice little, warm little, soft little bed down in the basement, close to the furnace.And their papa took the kitties out of their arms, and carried them down to their bed.And Arabella slept, and slept, and slept, and slept, and slept. And Araminta slept, and slept, and slept, and slept, and slept.And the little kitties in their soft little bed slept, and slept, too. All through the long, dark, beautiful night they slept.And the sun came, and the morning came, and it was another day![C]From “Arabella and Araminta Stories.” Used by permission of publishers, Small, Maynard & Co., Boston.THE GO-SLEEP STORY[D]BY EUDORA S. BUMSTEAD“How can I go to bed,” said Penny, the flossy dog, “till I say good-night to Baby Ray? He gives me part of his bread and milk, and pats me with his little, soft hand. It is bedtime now for dogs and babies. I wonder if he is asleep?”So he trotted along in his silky, white nightgown till he found Baby Ray on the porch in mamma’s arms.And she was telling him the same little story that I am telling you:The doggie that was given him to keep, keep, keep,Went to see if Baby Ray was asleep, sleep, sleep.“How can we go to bed,” said Snowdrop and Thistledown, the youngest children of Tabby, the cat, “till we have once more looked at Baby Ray? He lets us play with his blocks and ball, and laughs when we climb on the table. It is bedtime now for kitties and dogs and babies. Perhaps we shall find him asleep.” And this is what the kitties heard:One doggie that was given him to keep, keep, keep,Two cunning little kitty-cats, creep, creep, creep,Went to see if Baby Ray was asleep, sleep, sleep.“How can we go to bed,” said the three little Bunnies, “till we have seen Baby Ray?” Then away they went in their white, velvet nightgowns as softly as three flakes of snow. And they, too, when they got as far as the porch, heard Ray’s mamma telling the same little story:One doggie that was given him to keep, keep, keep,Two cunning little kitty-cats, creep, creep, creep,Three pretty little bunnies, with a leap, leap, leap,Went to see if Baby Ray was asleep, sleep, sleep.“How can we go to bed,” said the four white Geese, “till we know that Baby Ray is all right? He loves to watch us sail on the duck-pond, and he brings us corn in his little blue apron. It is bedtime now for geese and rabbits and kitties and dogs and babies, and he really ought to be asleep.”So they waddled away in their white, feather nightgowns, around by the porch, where they saw Baby Ray, and heard mamma tell the “Go-Sleep” story:One doggie that was given him to keep, keep, keep,Two cunning little kitty-cats, creep, creep, creep,Three pretty little bunnies, with a leap, leap, leap,Four geese from the duck-pond, deep, deep, deep,Went to see if Baby Ray was asleep, sleep, sleep.“How can we go to bed,” said the five white Chicks, “till we have seen Baby Ray once more? He scatters crumbs for us and calls us. Now it is bedtime for chicks and geese and rabbits and kittens and dogs and babies, so little Ray must be asleep.”Then they ran and fluttered in their downy, white nightgowns till they came to the porch, where little Ray was just closing his eyes, while mamma told the “Go-Sleep” story:One doggie that was given him to keep, keep, keep,Two cunning little kitty-cats, creep, creep, creep,Three pretty little bunnies, with a leap, leap, leap,Four geese from the duck-pond, deep, deep, deep,Five downy little chicks, crying peep, peep, peep,All saw that Baby Ray was asleep, sleep, sleep.[D]Used by permission ofThe Youth’s Companion.the land of nodTHE GENTLE DARK[E]BY W. GRAHAME ROBERTSONSo it is over, the long bright Day,And little Maid Twilight, quiet and meek,Comes stealing along in her creep-mouse wayWhispering low—for she may not speak—“The Gentle Dark is coming to playAt a game of Hide and Seek.”Some babies are cross when she whispers them this,And some are afraid and begin to cry.I never can think what they find amiss.Afraid of the Dark! I wonder why.The Gentle Dark that falls like a kissDown from the sleepy sky.O Gentle Dark, we know you are kindBy the lingering touch of your cool soft hand;As over our eyes the veil you bindWe shut them tight at word of command,You are only playing at Hoodman-Blind,A game that we understand.The voice is tender (O little one, hark!),The eyes are kindly under the hood,Blow out the candle, leave not a spark,Trusting your friend as a playmate should.Hold up your arms to the Gentle Dark,The Dark that is kind and good.[E]From “A Year of Song,” by W. Grahame Robertson; used by permission of the publishers, John Lane Company.THE FERRY FOR SHADOWTOWNSway to and fro in the twilight gray;This is the ferry for Shadowtown;It always sails at the end of the day,Just as the darkness closes down.Rest little head, on my shoulder, so;A sleepy kiss is the only fare,Drifting away from the world, we go,Baby and I in the rocking-chair.See where the fire-logs glow and spark,Glitter the lights of the shadowland,The raining drops on the window, hark!Are ripples lapping upon its strand.There, where the mirror is glancing dim,A lake lies shimmering, cool and still.Blossoms are waving above its brim,Those over there on the window-sill.Rock slow, more slow in the dusky light,Silently lower the anchor down;Dear little passenger, say “Good-night.”We’ve reached the harbor of Shadowtown.HUSH-A-BYE, BABYHush-a-bye, baby, in the tree top:When the wind blows, the cradle will rock;When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall,Down will come baby, cradle, and all.THE KITTEN AND THE FALLING LEAVESBY WILLIAM WORDSWORTHSee the kitten on the wall,Sporting with the leaves that fall,Withered leaves—one—two—and three—From the lofty elder tree!Through the calm and frosty airOf this morning bright and fair,Eddying round and round they sinkSoftly, slowly: one might thinkFrom the motions that are made,Every little leaf conveyedSylph or fairy hither tending,To this lower world descending,Each invisible and mute,In his wavering parachute.But the kitten, how she starts,Crouches, stretches, paws and darts!First at one and then its fellow,Just as light and just as yellow;There are many now—now one—Now they stop and there are none:What intenseness of desireIn her upward eye of fire!With a tiger-leap, halfway,Now she meets the coming prey;Lets it go as fast and thenHas it in her power again.Now she works with three or four,Like an Indian conjuror;Quick as he in feats of art,Far beyond in joy of heart.LateFrom “The Book of the Little Past,” by Josephine Preston Peabody;used by permission of the publishers, Houghton Mifflin Co.A BLESSING FOR THE BLESSEDBY LAURENCE ALMA-TADEMAWhen the sun has left the hilltop,And the daisy-fringe is furled,When the birds from wood and meadowIn their hidden nests are curled,Then I think of all the babiesThat are sleeping in the world.There are babies in the high landsAnd babies in the low,There are pale ones wrapped in furry skinsOn the margin of the snow,And brown ones naked in the islesWhere all the spices grow.And some are in the palace,On a white and downy bed;And some are in the garret,With a clout beneath their head;And some are on the cold, hard earth,Whose mothers have no bread.O little men and women,Dear flowers yet unblown—O little kings and beggarsOf the pageant yet unshown—Sleep soft and dream pale dreams now,To-morrow is your own.MY DOLLYHush, Dolly, bye, Dolly, sleep, Dolly, dear,See what a bed, Dolly, I’ve for you here;Therefore, to sleep, Dolly! don’t fret and cry;Lay down your head, Dolly, shut up your eye.When the bright morn, Dolly, once more has come,Up gets the sun, and goes forth to roam;Then shall my dear Dolly soon get up, too;Then shall be playtime for me and for you.Now go to sleep, Dolly, good night to you;You must to bed, Dolly—I’m going too;Just go to sleep without trouble or pain,And in the morning I’ll come back again.THE CHILD AND THE WORLDI see a nest in a green elm-treeWith little brown sparrows—one, two, three!The elm-tree stretches its branches wide,And the nest is soft and warm inside.At morn the sun, so golden bright,Climbs up to fill the world with light;It opens the flowers, it wakens me,And wakens the birdies—one, two, three.And leaning out of my window high,I look far up at the blue, blue sky,And then far out at the earth so green,And think it the loveliest ever seen—The loveliest world that ever was seen!EVENING SONGBY C. FRANCES ALEXANDERLittle birds sleep sweetlyIn their soft round nests,Crouching in the coverOf their mother’s breasts.Little lambs lie quiet,All the summer night,With their old ewe mothers,Warm, and soft, and white.But more sweet and quietLie our little heads,With our own dear mothersSitting by our beds;And their soft sweet voicesSing our hush-a-byes,While the room grows darker,As we shut our eyes.And we play at eveningRound our father’s knees;Birds are not so merry,Singing on the trees,Lambs are not so happy,’Mid the meadow flowers;They have play and pleasure,But not love like ours.ROCK-A-BYE, BABYRock-a-bye, baby, your cradle is green,Father’s a nobleman, mother’s a queen,And Betty’s a lady, and wears a gold ring,And Johnny’s a drummer, and drums for the King.hush a bye babyTHE SANDMANBY MARGARET VANDERGRIFTThe rosy clouds float overheadThe sun is going down,And now the Sandman’s gentle treadComes stealing through the town.“White sand, white sand,” he softly cries,And as he shakes his hand,Straightway there lies on babies’ eyesHis gift of shining sand.Blue eyes, black eyes, gray 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 dayHis store of shining sand.No tempests beat that shore remote,No ships may sail that way,His little boat alone may floatWithin 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 closeAbove 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 sandTo 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 songSound through the twilight sweet,Be sure you do not keep him longA-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.THE FAIRY FOLKBY ROBERT BIRDCome cuddle close in daddy’s coatBeside the fire so bright,And hear about the fairy folkThat wander in the night.For when the stars are shining clearAnd all the world is still,They float across the silver moonFrom hill to cloudy hill.Their caps of red, their cloaks of green,Are hung with silver bells,And when they’re shaken with the windTheir merry ringing swells,And riding on the crimson moth,With black spots on his wings,They guide them down the purple skyWith golden bridle rings.They love to visit girls and boys,To see how sweet they sleep,To stand beside their cozy cotsAnd at their faces peep.For in the whole of fairy-landThey have no finer sightThan little children sleeping soundWith faces rosy bright.On tiptoe crowding round their heads,When bright the moonlight beams,They whisper little tender wordsThat fill their minds with dreams;And when they see a sunny smile,With lightest finger tipsThey lay a hundred kisses sweetUpon the ruddy lips.And then the little spotted mothsSpread out their crimson wings,And bear away the fairy crowdWith shaking bridle rings.Come bairnies, hide in daddy’s coat,Beside the fire so bright—Perhaps the little fairy folkWill visit you to-night.QUEEN MABBY THOMAS HOODA little fairy comes at night;Her eyes are blue, her hair is brown,With silver spots upon her wings,And from the moon she flutters down.She has a little silver wand,And when a good child goes to bed,She waves her wand from right to left,And makes a circle round its head.And then it dreams of pleasant things—Of fountains filled with fairy fish,And trees that bear delicious fruit.And bow their branches at a wish.Of arbors filled with dainty scentsFrom lovely flowers that never fade,Bright flies that glitter in the sun,And glow-worms shining in the shade.And talking birds with gifted tonguesFor singing songs and telling tales,And pretty dwarfs to show the wayThrough fairy hills and fairy dales.But when a bad child goes to bed,From left to right she weaves her rings,And then it dreams all through the nightOf only ugly, horrid things!Then lions come with glaring eyes,And tigers growl, a dreadful noise,And ogres draw their cruel knives,To shed the blood of girls and boys.Then stormy waves rush on to drown,Or raging flames come scorching round,Fierce dragons hover in the air,And serpents crawl along the ground.Then wicked children wake and weep,And wish the long black gloom away;But good ones love the dark, and findThe night as pleasant as the day.LULLABYBY GERTRUDE THOMPSON MILLERCome lay your head on my breast, my dear,That I may feel your sweet form near;Then we’ll rock, rock, in the rocking chair,And play we’re sailing up through the air.Your body so warm, so close, and so round,A more precious bundle ne’er was found;Just nestle your head right here on my arm,And Mother will keep you safe from all harm.Now, we rock, rock, and away we go,Over the houses and trees, just so,Like the birds, we’ll fly to a sunny land,And there we’ll join the fairies’ band.We’ll take them to ride; we’ll sail for home,For Father is there, and he’s all alone;Then we’ll alight on the nursery bed,Fairies for company in Mother’s stead.KENTUCKY BABE[F]BY RICHARD HENRY BUCKSkeeters am a hummin’ on de honeysuckle vine,Sleep, Kentucky Babe!San’man am a comin’ to dis little coon of mine,—Sleep, Kentucky Babe!Silv’ry moon am shinin’ in de heabens up above,Bobolink am pinin’ fo’ his little lady love:Yo’ is mighty lucky, babe of old Kentucky,—Close yo’ eyes in sleep.Fly away, Kentucky Babe, fly away to rest,Lay yo’ kinky, woolly head on yo’ mammy’s breast,—Um-um-um-um,—Close yo’ eyes in sleep.Daddy’s in de canebrake wid his little dog and gun,—Sleep, Kentucky Babe!Possum fo’ yo’ breakfast when yo’ sleepin’ time is done,—Sleep, Kentucky Babe!Bogie man’ll catch yo’ sure unless yo’ close yo’ eyes,Waitin’ jes outside de doo’ to take yo’ by surprise!Close yo’ eyes in sleep.[F]Copyright, 1896, by the White-Smith Music Publishing Co. These words are published by the Company in the form of a musical composition by Adam Geibel, the well-known composer.MY POSSESSIONSI’m a rich man,If ever there was one:I’ve a horse and an apple,And both are my own.But some others might wishSuch fine presents to keep;So I’ll take them to bed,To hold while asleep.And when in the morningI wake up once more,I’ve my toy and my apple,To me a rich store.THE WAKE-UP STORY[G]BY EUDORA S. BUMSTEADThe sun was up and the breeze was blowing, and the five chicks, and four geese, and three rabbits, and two kitties, and one little dog were just as noisy and lively as they knew how to be.They were all watching for Baby Ray to appear at the window, but he was still fast asleep in his little white bed, while mamma was making ready the things he would need when he would wake up.First, she went along the orchard path as far as the old wooden pump, and said: “Good pump, will you give me some nice, clear water for the baby’s bath?”And the pump was willing.The good old pump by the orchard pathGave nice, clear water for the baby’s bath.Then she went a little further on the path, and stopped at the woodpile, and said: “Good chips, the pump has given me nice, clear water for dear Baby Ray; will you come and warm the water and cook his food?”And the chips were willing.The good old pump by the orchard pathGave nice clear water for the baby’s bath.And the clean white chips from the pile of woodWere glad to warm it and cook his food.So mamma went on till she came to the barn, and then said: “Good cow, the pump has given me nice, clear water, and the woodpile has given me clean, white chips for dear little Ray; will you give me warm, rich milk?”And the cow was willing.Then she said to the top-knot hen that was scratching in the straw: “Good Biddy, the pump has given me nice, clear water, and the woodpile has given me clean, white chips, and the cow has given me warm, rich milk for dear little Ray; will you give me a new-laid egg?”And the hen was willing.The good old pump by the orchard pathGave nice, clear water for the baby’s bath.The clean, white chips from the pile of woodWere glad to warm it and cook his food.The cow gave milk in the milk-pail bright,And the top-knot Biddy an egg new and white.Then mamma went on till she came to the orchard, and said to a Red June apple tree: “Good tree, the pump has given me nice, clear water, and the woodpile has given me clean, white chips, and the cow has given me warm, rich milk, and the hen has given me a new-laid egg for dear little Ray; will you give me a pretty, red apple?”And the tree was willing.So mamma took the apple and the egg and the milk and the chips and the water to the house, and there was Baby Ray in his nightgown looking out of the window.And she kissed him and bathed him and dressed him, and while she brushed and curled his soft, brown hair, she told him the Wake-Up Story that I am telling you.The good old pump by the orchard pathGave nice, clear water for the baby’s bath.The clean, white chips from the pile of woodWere glad to warm it and cook his food.The cow gave milk in the milk-pail bright;The top-knot Biddy an egg new and white;And the tree gave an apple so round and so red,For dear little Ray who was just out of bed.[G]Used by permission ofThe Youth’s Companion.

sweet and low

BY GERTRUDE SMITH

One night Arabella and Araminta’s mamma was sewing, and their papa was reading his newspaper. And there was a fire in the grate—a warm, bright fire in the grate.

And Arabella sat on the rug before the fire, and Araminta sat on the rug before the fire.

And Arabella was playing with her little white kitty, and Araminta was playing with her little black kitty.

And Arabella’s little white kitty’s name was Annabel, and Araminta’s little black kitty’s name was Lillabel.

Arabella had a little red ball fastened to a long string, and Araminta had a little blue ball fastened to a long string. Arabella would roll her ball, and her little white kitty would run and jump for it. And Araminta would roll her ball, and her little black kitty would run and jump for it.

The kittens were so cunning and funny, and they were having such a splendid time.

Sometimes when Arabella’s kitty would run very fast, or jump very high, Arabella would laugh until she tumbled right over on the floor.

And sometimes when Araminta’s kitty would run very fast, or jump very high, Araminta would laugh until she would tumble right over on the floor.

Oh, they were having a splendid time.

But all at once their mamma looked up from her sewing, and said, “Good-night, Arabella. Good-night, Araminta. The clock is on the stroke of eight.”

And their papa looked up from his paper, and said, “Yes, good-night, Arabella. Good-night, Araminta. The clock is on the stroke of eight.”

And Arabella said, “Oh, must we go to bed right now?”

And Araminta said, “Oh, must we go to bed right now?”

And their papa said, “Yes, indeed; yes, indeed. Good-night, Arabella. Good-night, Araminta. The clock is on the stroke of eight.”

Always, when it was bedtime, their papa and mamma would say, “Good-night, Arabella. Good-night, Araminta.”

And sometimes they were good, and sometimes they were bad; but they always ran away to bed.

And their dear mamma always went with them and tucked them in and kissed them, and then came away downstairs and left them. And sometimes they were good, and sometimes they were bad; but they always went to sleep.

But to-night their mamma said,

“Run and get your nighties, dears,And get each a flannel gown,And we’ll sit and rock you here,Till you go to sleepy-town.”

And Arabella ran upstairs and got her nighty and her little flannel gown. And Araminta ran upstairs and got her nighty and her little flannel gown. And their mamma undressed Arabella, and their papa undressed Araminta.

Arabella’s little flannel gown was red, and Araminta’s little flannel gown was pink. When they had put them on over their nighties they were just as warm as toast.

Arabella’s kitty was playing with Araminta’s kitty on the rug before the fire. They were rolling and tumbling and chasing each other, and they looked so cunning and sweet.

And Arabella’s mamma took Arabella on her lap, and Araminta’s papa took Araminta on his lap.

Arabella said, “Oh, I want my kitty in my lap, mamma!”

And Araminta said, “Oh, I want my kitty in my lap, papa!”

So they jumped down and caught the kitties.

Their mamma rocked Arabella, and their papa rocked Araminta; and they sang to them,

“Now a nice little rock,And never mind the clock,Now a nice little rock,And never mind the clock!”

And they sang it over, and over, and over.

“Now a nice little rock,And never mind the clock,Now a nice little rock,And never mind the clock!”

And Arabella cuddled in her mamma’s arms, and hugged her little kitty close; and Araminta cuddled in her papa’s arms, and hugged her little kitty close.

And their mamma sang, and their papa sang;

“Now she goes to sleepy-town, sleepy-town, sleepy-town;Cuddled in her little gown, here she goes to sleepy-town.”

And they sang it over, and over, and over.

“Now she goes to sleepy-town, sleepy-town, sleepy-town;Cuddled in her little gown, here she goes to sleepy-town.”

And very soon Arabella could only just hear her mamma singing, and very soon Araminta could only just hear her papa singing, “Sleepy-town, sleepy-town.” And soon they couldn’t hear them at all. They were sound asleep!

And their mamma looked at their papa, and said, “Our precious little dears are both sound asleep.”

And their papa said, “Yes, our little pets have both reached sleepy-town.”

And Arabella’s mamma carried her upstairs and put her in her little bed, and Araminta’s papa carried her upstairs and put her in her little bed. And Arabella was hugging her white kitty up close in her arms and Araminta was hugging her black kitty up close in her arms. And the kitties were both sound asleep, too.

But Arabella’s kitty and Araminta’s kitty did not sleep with them all night—oh, no indeed! They had a nice little, warm little, soft little bed down in the basement, close to the furnace.

And their papa took the kitties out of their arms, and carried them down to their bed.

And Arabella slept, and slept, and slept, and slept, and slept. And Araminta slept, and slept, and slept, and slept, and slept.

And the little kitties in their soft little bed slept, and slept, too. All through the long, dark, beautiful night they slept.

And the sun came, and the morning came, and it was another day!

[C]From “Arabella and Araminta Stories.” Used by permission of publishers, Small, Maynard & Co., Boston.

BY EUDORA S. BUMSTEAD

“How can I go to bed,” said Penny, the flossy dog, “till I say good-night to Baby Ray? He gives me part of his bread and milk, and pats me with his little, soft hand. It is bedtime now for dogs and babies. I wonder if he is asleep?”

So he trotted along in his silky, white nightgown till he found Baby Ray on the porch in mamma’s arms.

And she was telling him the same little story that I am telling you:

The doggie that was given him to keep, keep, keep,Went to see if Baby Ray was asleep, sleep, sleep.

“How can we go to bed,” said Snowdrop and Thistledown, the youngest children of Tabby, the cat, “till we have once more looked at Baby Ray? He lets us play with his blocks and ball, and laughs when we climb on the table. It is bedtime now for kitties and dogs and babies. Perhaps we shall find him asleep.” And this is what the kitties heard:

One doggie that was given him to keep, keep, keep,Two cunning little kitty-cats, creep, creep, creep,Went to see if Baby Ray was asleep, sleep, sleep.

“How can we go to bed,” said the three little Bunnies, “till we have seen Baby Ray?” Then away they went in their white, velvet nightgowns as softly as three flakes of snow. And they, too, when they got as far as the porch, heard Ray’s mamma telling the same little story:

One doggie that was given him to keep, keep, keep,Two cunning little kitty-cats, creep, creep, creep,Three pretty little bunnies, with a leap, leap, leap,Went to see if Baby Ray was asleep, sleep, sleep.

“How can we go to bed,” said the four white Geese, “till we know that Baby Ray is all right? He loves to watch us sail on the duck-pond, and he brings us corn in his little blue apron. It is bedtime now for geese and rabbits and kitties and dogs and babies, and he really ought to be asleep.”

So they waddled away in their white, feather nightgowns, around by the porch, where they saw Baby Ray, and heard mamma tell the “Go-Sleep” story:

One doggie that was given him to keep, keep, keep,Two cunning little kitty-cats, creep, creep, creep,Three pretty little bunnies, with a leap, leap, leap,Four geese from the duck-pond, deep, deep, deep,Went to see if Baby Ray was asleep, sleep, sleep.

“How can we go to bed,” said the five white Chicks, “till we have seen Baby Ray once more? He scatters crumbs for us and calls us. Now it is bedtime for chicks and geese and rabbits and kittens and dogs and babies, so little Ray must be asleep.”

Then they ran and fluttered in their downy, white nightgowns till they came to the porch, where little Ray was just closing his eyes, while mamma told the “Go-Sleep” story:

[D]Used by permission ofThe Youth’s Companion.

the land of nod

BY W. GRAHAME ROBERTSON

So it is over, the long bright Day,And little Maid Twilight, quiet and meek,Comes stealing along in her creep-mouse wayWhispering low—for she may not speak—“The Gentle Dark is coming to playAt a game of Hide and Seek.”

Some babies are cross when she whispers them this,And some are afraid and begin to cry.I never can think what they find amiss.Afraid of the Dark! I wonder why.The Gentle Dark that falls like a kissDown from the sleepy sky.

O Gentle Dark, we know you are kindBy the lingering touch of your cool soft hand;As over our eyes the veil you bindWe shut them tight at word of command,You are only playing at Hoodman-Blind,A game that we understand.

The voice is tender (O little one, hark!),The eyes are kindly under the hood,Blow out the candle, leave not a spark,Trusting your friend as a playmate should.Hold up your arms to the Gentle Dark,The Dark that is kind and good.

[E]From “A Year of Song,” by W. Grahame Robertson; used by permission of the publishers, John Lane Company.

Sway to and fro in the twilight gray;This is the ferry for Shadowtown;It always sails at the end of the day,Just as the darkness closes down.

Rest little head, on my shoulder, so;A sleepy kiss is the only fare,Drifting away from the world, we go,Baby and I in the rocking-chair.

See where the fire-logs glow and spark,Glitter the lights of the shadowland,The raining drops on the window, hark!Are ripples lapping upon its strand.

There, where the mirror is glancing dim,A lake lies shimmering, cool and still.Blossoms are waving above its brim,Those over there on the window-sill.

Rock slow, more slow in the dusky light,Silently lower the anchor down;Dear little passenger, say “Good-night.”We’ve reached the harbor of Shadowtown.

Hush-a-bye, baby, in the tree top:When the wind blows, the cradle will rock;When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall,Down will come baby, cradle, and all.

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

See the kitten on the wall,Sporting with the leaves that fall,Withered leaves—one—two—and three—From the lofty elder tree!Through the calm and frosty airOf this morning bright and fair,Eddying round and round they sinkSoftly, slowly: one might thinkFrom the motions that are made,Every little leaf conveyedSylph or fairy hither tending,To this lower world descending,Each invisible and mute,In his wavering parachute.But the kitten, how she starts,Crouches, stretches, paws and darts!First at one and then its fellow,Just as light and just as yellow;There are many now—now one—Now they stop and there are none:What intenseness of desireIn her upward eye of fire!With a tiger-leap, halfway,Now she meets the coming prey;Lets it go as fast and thenHas it in her power again.Now she works with three or four,Like an Indian conjuror;Quick as he in feats of art,Far beyond in joy of heart.

Late

From “The Book of the Little Past,” by Josephine Preston Peabody;used by permission of the publishers, Houghton Mifflin Co.

BY LAURENCE ALMA-TADEMA

When the sun has left the hilltop,And the daisy-fringe is furled,When the birds from wood and meadowIn their hidden nests are curled,Then I think of all the babiesThat are sleeping in the world.

There are babies in the high landsAnd babies in the low,There are pale ones wrapped in furry skinsOn the margin of the snow,And brown ones naked in the islesWhere all the spices grow.

And some are in the palace,On a white and downy bed;And some are in the garret,With a clout beneath their head;And some are on the cold, hard earth,Whose mothers have no bread.

O little men and women,Dear flowers yet unblown—O little kings and beggarsOf the pageant yet unshown—Sleep soft and dream pale dreams now,To-morrow is your own.

Hush, Dolly, bye, Dolly, sleep, Dolly, dear,See what a bed, Dolly, I’ve for you here;Therefore, to sleep, Dolly! don’t fret and cry;Lay down your head, Dolly, shut up your eye.

When the bright morn, Dolly, once more has come,Up gets the sun, and goes forth to roam;Then shall my dear Dolly soon get up, too;Then shall be playtime for me and for you.

Now go to sleep, Dolly, good night to you;You must to bed, Dolly—I’m going too;Just go to sleep without trouble or pain,And in the morning I’ll come back again.

I see a nest in a green elm-treeWith little brown sparrows—one, two, three!The elm-tree stretches its branches wide,And the nest is soft and warm inside.At morn the sun, so golden bright,Climbs up to fill the world with light;It opens the flowers, it wakens me,And wakens the birdies—one, two, three.And leaning out of my window high,I look far up at the blue, blue sky,And then far out at the earth so green,And think it the loveliest ever seen—The loveliest world that ever was seen!

BY C. FRANCES ALEXANDER

Little birds sleep sweetlyIn their soft round nests,Crouching in the coverOf their mother’s breasts.Little lambs lie quiet,All the summer night,With their old ewe mothers,Warm, and soft, and white.

But more sweet and quietLie our little heads,With our own dear mothersSitting by our beds;And their soft sweet voicesSing our hush-a-byes,While the room grows darker,As we shut our eyes.

And we play at eveningRound our father’s knees;Birds are not so merry,Singing on the trees,Lambs are not so happy,’Mid the meadow flowers;They have play and pleasure,But not love like ours.

Rock-a-bye, baby, your cradle is green,Father’s a nobleman, mother’s a queen,And Betty’s a lady, and wears a gold ring,And Johnny’s a drummer, and drums for the King.

hush a bye baby

BY MARGARET VANDERGRIFT

The rosy clouds float overheadThe sun is going down,And now the Sandman’s gentle treadComes stealing through the town.“White sand, white sand,” he softly cries,And as he shakes his hand,Straightway there lies on babies’ eyesHis gift of shining sand.Blue eyes, black eyes, gray 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 dayHis store of shining sand.No tempests beat that shore remote,No ships may sail that way,His little boat alone may floatWithin 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 closeAbove 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 sandTo 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 songSound through the twilight sweet,Be sure you do not keep him longA-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.

BY ROBERT BIRD

Come cuddle close in daddy’s coatBeside the fire so bright,And hear about the fairy folkThat wander in the night.For when the stars are shining clearAnd all the world is still,They float across the silver moonFrom hill to cloudy hill.

Their caps of red, their cloaks of green,Are hung with silver bells,And when they’re shaken with the windTheir merry ringing swells,And riding on the crimson moth,With black spots on his wings,They guide them down the purple skyWith golden bridle rings.

They love to visit girls and boys,To see how sweet they sleep,To stand beside their cozy cotsAnd at their faces peep.For in the whole of fairy-landThey have no finer sightThan little children sleeping soundWith faces rosy bright.

On tiptoe crowding round their heads,When bright the moonlight beams,They whisper little tender wordsThat fill their minds with dreams;And when they see a sunny smile,With lightest finger tipsThey lay a hundred kisses sweetUpon the ruddy lips.

And then the little spotted mothsSpread out their crimson wings,And bear away the fairy crowdWith shaking bridle rings.Come bairnies, hide in daddy’s coat,Beside the fire so bright—Perhaps the little fairy folkWill visit you to-night.

BY THOMAS HOOD

A little fairy comes at night;Her eyes are blue, her hair is brown,With silver spots upon her wings,And from the moon she flutters down.

She has a little silver wand,And when a good child goes to bed,She waves her wand from right to left,And makes a circle round its head.

And then it dreams of pleasant things—Of fountains filled with fairy fish,And trees that bear delicious fruit.And bow their branches at a wish.

Of arbors filled with dainty scentsFrom lovely flowers that never fade,Bright flies that glitter in the sun,And glow-worms shining in the shade.

And talking birds with gifted tonguesFor singing songs and telling tales,And pretty dwarfs to show the wayThrough fairy hills and fairy dales.

But when a bad child goes to bed,From left to right she weaves her rings,And then it dreams all through the nightOf only ugly, horrid things!

Then lions come with glaring eyes,And tigers growl, a dreadful noise,And ogres draw their cruel knives,To shed the blood of girls and boys.

Then stormy waves rush on to drown,Or raging flames come scorching round,Fierce dragons hover in the air,And serpents crawl along the ground.

Then wicked children wake and weep,And wish the long black gloom away;But good ones love the dark, and findThe night as pleasant as the day.

BY GERTRUDE THOMPSON MILLER

Come lay your head on my breast, my dear,That I may feel your sweet form near;Then we’ll rock, rock, in the rocking chair,And play we’re sailing up through the air.

Your body so warm, so close, and so round,A more precious bundle ne’er was found;Just nestle your head right here on my arm,And Mother will keep you safe from all harm.

Now, we rock, rock, and away we go,Over the houses and trees, just so,Like the birds, we’ll fly to a sunny land,And there we’ll join the fairies’ band.

We’ll take them to ride; we’ll sail for home,For Father is there, and he’s all alone;Then we’ll alight on the nursery bed,Fairies for company in Mother’s stead.

BY RICHARD HENRY BUCK

Skeeters am a hummin’ on de honeysuckle vine,Sleep, Kentucky Babe!San’man am a comin’ to dis little coon of mine,—Sleep, Kentucky Babe!Silv’ry moon am shinin’ in de heabens up above,Bobolink am pinin’ fo’ his little lady love:Yo’ is mighty lucky, babe of old Kentucky,—Close yo’ eyes in sleep.

Fly away, Kentucky Babe, fly away to rest,Lay yo’ kinky, woolly head on yo’ mammy’s breast,—Um-um-um-um,—Close yo’ eyes in sleep.

Daddy’s in de canebrake wid his little dog and gun,—Sleep, Kentucky Babe!Possum fo’ yo’ breakfast when yo’ sleepin’ time is done,—Sleep, Kentucky Babe!Bogie man’ll catch yo’ sure unless yo’ close yo’ eyes,Waitin’ jes outside de doo’ to take yo’ by surprise!Close yo’ eyes in sleep.

[F]Copyright, 1896, by the White-Smith Music Publishing Co. These words are published by the Company in the form of a musical composition by Adam Geibel, the well-known composer.

I’m a rich man,If ever there was one:I’ve a horse and an apple,And both are my own.

But some others might wishSuch fine presents to keep;So I’ll take them to bed,To hold while asleep.

And when in the morningI wake up once more,I’ve my toy and my apple,To me a rich store.

BY EUDORA S. BUMSTEAD

The sun was up and the breeze was blowing, and the five chicks, and four geese, and three rabbits, and two kitties, and one little dog were just as noisy and lively as they knew how to be.

They were all watching for Baby Ray to appear at the window, but he was still fast asleep in his little white bed, while mamma was making ready the things he would need when he would wake up.

First, she went along the orchard path as far as the old wooden pump, and said: “Good pump, will you give me some nice, clear water for the baby’s bath?”

And the pump was willing.

The good old pump by the orchard pathGave nice, clear water for the baby’s bath.

Then she went a little further on the path, and stopped at the woodpile, and said: “Good chips, the pump has given me nice, clear water for dear Baby Ray; will you come and warm the water and cook his food?”

And the chips were willing.

The good old pump by the orchard pathGave nice clear water for the baby’s bath.And the clean white chips from the pile of woodWere glad to warm it and cook his food.

So mamma went on till she came to the barn, and then said: “Good cow, the pump has given me nice, clear water, and the woodpile has given me clean, white chips for dear little Ray; will you give me warm, rich milk?”

And the cow was willing.

Then she said to the top-knot hen that was scratching in the straw: “Good Biddy, the pump has given me nice, clear water, and the woodpile has given me clean, white chips, and the cow has given me warm, rich milk for dear little Ray; will you give me a new-laid egg?”

And the hen was willing.

The good old pump by the orchard pathGave nice, clear water for the baby’s bath.The clean, white chips from the pile of woodWere glad to warm it and cook his food.The cow gave milk in the milk-pail bright,And the top-knot Biddy an egg new and white.

Then mamma went on till she came to the orchard, and said to a Red June apple tree: “Good tree, the pump has given me nice, clear water, and the woodpile has given me clean, white chips, and the cow has given me warm, rich milk, and the hen has given me a new-laid egg for dear little Ray; will you give me a pretty, red apple?”

And the tree was willing.

So mamma took the apple and the egg and the milk and the chips and the water to the house, and there was Baby Ray in his nightgown looking out of the window.

And she kissed him and bathed him and dressed him, and while she brushed and curled his soft, brown hair, she told him the Wake-Up Story that I am telling you.

[G]Used by permission ofThe Youth’s Companion.

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