Poetry Archives

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 cozy 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.