Poetry Archives

Hush, little one, and fold your hands;
  The sun hath set, the moon is high;
The sea is singing to the sands,
  And wakeful posies are beguiled
By many a fairy lullaby:
  Hush, little child, my little child!

Dream, little one, and in your dreams
  Float upward from this lowly place,—
Float out on mellow, misty streams
  To lands where bideth Mary mild,
And let her kiss thy little face,
  You little child, my little child!

Sleep, little one, and take thy rest,
  With angels bending over thee,—
Sleep sweetly on that Father’s breast
  Whom our dear Christ hath reconciled;
But stay not there,—come back to me,
  O little child, my little child!