VI The Palace Bed-Time
Watching Angels
Angels at the foot,
And Angels at the head,
And like a curly little lamb
My pretty babe in bed.
Christina G. Rossetti.
The Story of Baby’s Blanket
Once a little Baby,
On a sunny day,
Out among the daisies
Took his happy way.
Little lambs were frisking
In the fields so green,
While the fleecy mothers
All at rest were seen.
For a while the Baby
Played and played and played;
Then he sat and rested
In the pleasant shade.
Soon a Sheep came near him,
Growing very bold,
And this wondrous story
To the Baby told:
“Baby’s little blanket,
Socks and worsted ball,
Winter cap and mittens,
And his flannels all,
And his pretty afghan
Warm and soft and fine,
Once as wool were growing
On this back of mine!
“And the soft bed blankets,
For his cosey sleep,
These were also given
By his friends, the sheep.”
Such the wondrous story
That the Baby heard:
Did he understand it?
Not a single word!
Emilie Poulsson.
The Story of Baby’s Pillow
These are the Eggs that were put in a nest;
These are the Goslings in yellow down drest.
This is the Farmyard where, living in peace,
All the young Goslings grew up to be Geese.
Here’s the Goose family waddling about—
In a procession they always walk out.
This is the Farmer who said, “Every Goose
Now has some feathers on, ready for use.”
This is the Farmer’s Wife, plucking with care
All of the feathers the Geese can well spare.
This is the Pillow the Merchant displayed:
“Yes, of the finest Goose-feathers ’tis made.”
This is the Mother who put on its case,
Laid the wee Pillow away in its place.
This is the Crib with its furnishings white,
This the dear Baby who bids you “Good-night.”
Emilie Poulsson.
The New Moon
Dear mother, how pretty
The moon looks to-night!
She was never so cunning before;
Her two little horns
Are so sharp and so bright,
I hope she’ll not grow any more.
If I were up there
With you and my friends,
I’d rock in it nicely, you see;
I’d sit in the middle
And hold by both ends;
O, what a bright cradle ’twould be!
I would call to the stars
To keep out of the way,
Lest we should rock over their toes,
And there I would rock
Till the dawn of the day,
And see where the pretty moon goes.
And there we would stay
In the beautiful skies,
And through the bright clouds we would roam;
We would see the sun set,
And see the sun rise,
And on the next rainbow come home.
Eliza Lee Follen.
Lady Moon
Lady moon, lady moon,
Sailing so high!
Drop down to baby
From out the clear sky;
Babykin, babykin,
Down far below,
I hear thee calling,
But I cannot go.
But lady moon sendeth thee
Soft shining rays;
Moon loves the baby,
The moonlight says.
In her house dark and blue,
Though she must stay,
Kindly she’ll watch thee
Till dawns the new day.
Kate Kellogg.
The Star
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are!
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.
When the blazing sun is gone,
When he nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.
Then the traveller in the dark
Thanks you for your tiny spark:
He could not see which way to go,
If you did not twinkle so.
In the dark-blue sky you keep,
And often through my curtains peep,
For you never shut your eye
Till the sun is in the sky.
As your bright and tiny spark
Lights the traveller in the dark,
Though I know not what you are,
Twinkle, twinkle, little star.
Unknown.
The Child’s Star
The star that watched above your sleep has just put out his light.
“Good day, to you on earth,” he said, “is here in heav’n, good night.”
“But tell the child when he awakes, to watch for my return,
For I’ll hang out my lamp again, when his begins to burn.”
John B. Tabb.
Do You Know How Many Stars?
Do you know how many stars
There are shining in the skies?
Do you know how many clouds
Ev’ry day go floating by?
God in heaven has counted all,
He would miss one should it fall.
Do you know how many children
Go to little beds at night,
And without a care or sorrow,
Wake up in the morning light?
God in heaven each name can tell,
Loves you, too, and loves you well.
From the German.
Where Do All the Daisies Go?
Where do all the daisies go?
I know, I know!
Underneath the snow they creep,
Nod their little heads and sleep,
In the springtime out they peep;
That is where they go!
Where do all the birdies go?
I know, I know!
Far away from winter snow
To the fair, warm South they go;
There they stay till daisies blow,
That is where they go!
Where do all the babies go?
I know, I know!
In the glancing firelight warm,
Safely sheltered from all harm,
Soft they lie on mother’s arm,
That is where they go!
Unknown.
The Sweetest Place
A meadow for the little lambs;
A honey hive for bees;
And pretty nests for singing birds
Among the leafy trees.
There’s rest for all the little ones
In one place or another;
But who has half so sweet a place
As baby with her mother?
The little chickens cuddle close,
Beneath the old hen’s wing;
“Peep! Peep!” they say; “we’re not afraid
Of dark or any thing.”
So, safe and sound, they nestle there,
The one beside the other;
But safer, happier, by far,
Is baby with her mother.
Mary F. Butts.
Good-Night
Little baby, lay your head
On your pretty cradle-bed;
Shut your eye-peeps, now the day
And the light are gone away;
All the clothes are tucked in tight;
Little baby dear, good-night.
Yes, my darling, well I know
How the bitter wind doth blow;
And the winter’s snow and rain
Patter on the window-pane:
But they cannot come in here,
To my little baby dear;
For the window shutteth fast,
Till the stormy night is past;
And the curtains warm are spread
Round about her cradle-bed:
So till morning shineth bright,
Little baby dear, good-night.
Jane Taylor.
Nursery Song
As I walked over the hill one day,
I listened, and heard a mother-sheep say,
“In all the green world there is nothing so sweet
As my little lamb, with his nimble feet;
With his eye so bright,
And his wool so white,
Oh, he is my darling, my heart’s delight!”
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 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,
I love them at morning, noon, and night.
Now I’ll take up my kitties, the kitties I love,
And we’ll lie down together beneath the warm stove.”
Let the kittens sleep under the stove so warm,
While my little darling lies here on my arm.
I went to the yard, and I saw the old hen
Go clucking about with her chickens ten;
She clucked and she scratched and she bustled away,
And what do you think I heard the hen 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.
My dear, downy darlings, my sweet little things,
Come, nestle now cozily under my wings.”
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 lies here on my arm.
Mrs. Carter.
How They Sleep
Some things go to sleep in such a funny way:
Little birds stand on one leg and tuck their heads away;
Chickens do the same, standing on their perch;
Little mice lie soft and still as if they were in church;
Kittens curl up close in such a funny ball;
Horses hang their sleepy heads and stand still in a stall;
Sometimes dogs stretch out, or curl up in a heap;
Cows lie down upon their sides when they would go to sleep.
But little babies dear are snugly tucked in beds,
Warm with blankets, all so soft, and pillows for their heads.
Bird and beast and babe—I wonder which of all
Dream the dearest dreams that down from dreamland fall!
Unknown.
Baby-Land
Which is the way to Baby-Land?
Any one can tell;
Up one flight,
To your right;
Please to ring the bell.
What can you see in Baby-Land?
Little folks in white,
Downy heads,
Cradle-beds,
Faces pure and bright.
What do they do in Baby-Land?
Dream and wake and play,
Laugh and crow,
Shout and grow,
Jolly times have they.
What do they say in Baby-Land?
Why, the oddest things;
Might as well
Try to tell
What a birdie sings.
Who is the queen of Baby-Land?
Mother kind and sweet;
And her love,
Born above,
Guides the little feet.
George Cooper.
Lullaby
Baby wants a lullaby;
Where should mother find it?
In a bird’s nest rocked on high;
Birdie, birdie lined it;
Find it under birdie’s wing,—
Soft birdie’s feather;—
O the downy, downy thing!
O the summer weather!
Baby wants a lullaby;
Where shall sister find it?
In a soft cloud of the sky,
With white wool behind it;
Watch you may, but cannot guess
If the cloud has motion,
Such a perfect calm there is
In the airy ocean.
O the land of Lullabies!
Where shall father find it?
Safe in mother’s breast it lies,
With her arms to bind it;
O a soft and sleepy song!
Sleep, baby blossom!
Sleep is short, sleep is long,
Sweet is mother’s bosom!
William Brighty Rands.
A Cradle Song
What does little birdie say
In her nest at peep of day?
Let me fly, says little birdie,
Mother, let me fly away.
Birdie, rest a little longer,
Till the little wings are stronger.
So she rests a little longer,
Then she flies away.
What does little baby say,
In her bed at peep of day?
Baby says, like little birdie,
Let me rise and fly away.
Baby, sleep a little longer,
Till the little limbs are stronger.
If she sleeps a little longer,
Baby too shall fly away.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson.
Good-night Prayer for a Little Child
Father, unto Thee I pray,
Thou hast guarded me all day;
Safe I am while in Thy sight,
Safely let me sleep to-night.
Bless my friends, the whole world bless,
Help me to learn helpfulness;
Keep me ever in Thy sight:
So to all I say Good-night.
Henry Johnstone.
The Sleepy Song10
As soon as the fire burns red and low
And the house upstairs is still,
She sings me a queer little sleepy song,
Of sheep that go over the hill.
The good little sheep run quick and soft,
Their colors are gray and white;
They follow their leader nose and tail,
For they must be home by night.
And one slips over, and one comes next,
And one runs after behind;
The gray one’s nose at the white one’s tail,
The top of the hill they find.
And when they get to the top of the hill
They quietly slip away,
But one runs over and one comes next—
Their colors are white and gray.
And over they go, and over they go,
And over the top of the hill
The good little sheep run quick and soft,
And the house upstairs is still.
And one slips over and one comes next,
The good little, gray little sheep!
I watch how the fire burns red and low,
And she says that I fall asleep.
Josephine Daskam Bacon.
Minnie and Winnie
Minnie and Winnie
Slept in a shell.
Sleep, little ladies!
And they slept well.
Pink was the shell within,
Silver without;
Sounds of the great sea
Wandered about.
Sleep, little ladies!
Wake not soon!
Echo on echo
Dies to the moon.
Two bright stars
Peeped into the shell.
“What are they dreaming of?
Who can tell?”
Started a green linnet
Out of the croft;
Wake, little ladies!
The sun is aloft.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson.
Queen Mab
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 weaves 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 scents
From lovely flowers that never fade,
Bright flies that glitter in the sun,
And glow-worms shining in the shade;
And talking birds with gifted tongues
For singing songs and telling tales,
And pretty dwarfs to show the way
Through fairy hills and fairy dales.
Thomas Hood.
A Boy’s Mother11
My mother she’s so good to me,
Ef I was good as I could be,
I couldn’t be as good—no, sir!—
Can’t any boy be good as her.
She loves me when I’m glad er sad;
She loves me when I’m good er bad;
An’, what’s a funniest thing, she says
She loves me when she punishes.
I don’t like her to punish me,—
That don’t hurt,—but it hurts to see
Her cryin’.—Nen I cry; an’ nen
We both cry an’ be good again.
She loves me when she cuts an’ sews
My little cloak an’ Sund’y clothes;
An’ when my Pa comes home to tea,
She loves him most as much as me.
She laughs an’ tells him all I said,
An’ grabs me up an’ pats my head;
An’ I hug her, an’ hug my Pa,
An’ love him purt’ nigh much as Ma.
James Whitcomb Riley.
Our Mother
Hundreds of stars in the pretty sky,
Hundreds of shells on the shore together,
Hundreds of birds that go singing by,
Hundreds of birds in the sunny weather,
Hundreds of dewdrops to greet the dawn,
Hundreds of bees in the purple clover,
Hundreds of butterflies on the lawn,
But only one mother the wide world over.
Unknown.
Said I to myself, here’s a chance for me,
The Lilliput Laureate for to be!
And these are the Specimens I sent in
To Pinafore Palace. Shall I win?
William Brighty Rands.
Notes
10 From “Poems,” copyright, 1903, by Chas. Scribner’s Sons.
11 From “Rhymes of Childhood,” copyright, 1905, and by special permission of the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company.