ROCKABY, baby, on the tree-top; When the wind blows the cradle will rock BY-LO, baby-bunting! Mamma's gone to get a skin. CRADLE-SONG. R. W. GILDer. IN the embers shining bright, But, O my child, beware, beware! WILLIE WINKIE. WILLIAM MILLER. WEE Willie Winkie rins through the town, "Are the weans in their bed? - for it's now ten o'clock." Hey, Willie Winkie, are ye comin' ben? The cat's singin' gay thrums to the sleepin' hen, The doug's speldered on the floor, and disna gie a cheep; But here's a waukrife laddie that winna fa' asleep. Onything but sleep, ye rogue! - glowerin' like the moon, Rattlin' in an airn jug wi' an airn spoon; Rumblin' tumblin' roun' about, crawin' like a cock, Skirlin' like a kenna-what-wauknin' sleepin' folk. Hey, Willie Winkie! the wean's in a creel, Waumblin' aff a bodie's knee like a vera eel; Ruggin' at the cat's lug, and ravellin' a' her thrums: Hey, Willie Winkie! - See, there he comes! Weary is the mither that has a storie wean, me. CUDDLE DOON. ALEXANDER ANDERSON. THE bairnies cuddle doon at nicht, Oh, try an' sleep, ye waukrife rogues, They never heed a word I speak; But aye I hap them up, an' cry, "O bairnies, cuddle doon.' Wee Jamie wi' the curly heid- I rin an' fetch them pieces, drinks, But ere five minutes gang, wee Rab The mischief's in that Tam for tricks, But aye I hap them up an' cry, At length they hear their father's fit, An', as he steeks the door, They turn their faces to the wa', While Tam pretends to snore. "Hae a' the weans been gude?" he asks, As he pits off his shoon; "The bairnies, John, are in their beds, An' lang since cuddled doon." An' just afore we bed oorsel', We look at oor wee lambs; Tam has his airms roun' wee Rab's neck, I lift wee Jamie up the bed, The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht, But sune the big warl's cark an' care Yet come what will to ilka ane, May He who sits aboon Aye whisper, though their pows be bauld, I THINK WHEN I READ THAT SWEET STORY OF OLD. JEMIMA LUKE. I THINK, when I read that sweet story of old, How He called little children as lambs to his fold, I wish that His hand had been placed on my head, That His arms had been thrown around me, And that I might have heard His kind voice when He said, "Let the little ones come unto me." Yet still to His foot-stool in prayer I may go, And if I thus earnestly seek Him below, In that beautiful home He has gone to prepare TO THE GUARDIAN ANGEL. FROM THE FRENCH OF MME. TASTU. TRANSLATED AND ARRANGED BY THE EDITORS. WATCH over me while I'm asleep, And, while I hearken what you say, I pray you, Angel, hold my hand! |