 | Poems and verses by Mary Mapes Dodge |  |
184
HOME AND MOTHER.
Sleep, my own darling,
By, baby, by;
Mother is with thee,
By, baby, by.
There, baby. (Oh, how the wild winds wail!)
Hush, baby. (Turning to sleet and hail;
Ah, how the pine-tree moans and mutters!—
I wonder if Ellen will think of the shutters?)
By, baby, by;
Mother is with thee,
By, baby, by.
There, baby. (Oh, how the wild winds wail!)
Hush, baby. (Turning to sleet and hail;
Ah, how the pine-tree moans and mutters!—
I wonder if Ellen will think of the shutters?)
Sleep, my own darling,
By, baby, by;
Mother is with thee,
By, baby, by.
Rest thee. (She could n't have left the blower
Down in the parlor? There 's so much to show her!)
By-by, my sweetest. (Now the rain 's pouring!
Is it wind or the dining-room fire that 's roaring?)
By, baby, by;
Mother is with thee,
By, baby, by.
Rest thee. (She could n't have left the blower
Down in the parlor? There 's so much to show her!)
By-by, my sweetest. (Now the rain 's pouring!
Is it wind or the dining-room fire that 's roaring?)
185
Sleep, my own darling,
By, baby, by;
Mother is with thee,
By, baby, by.
How lovely his forehead!—my own blessed pet!
He 's nearly asleep. (Now I must n't forget
That pork in the brine, and the stair-rods to-morrow.)
Heaven shield him forever from trouble and sorrow!
By, baby, by;
Mother is with thee,
By, baby, by.
How lovely his forehead!—my own blessed pet!
He 's nearly asleep. (Now I must n't forget
That pork in the brine, and the stair-rods to-morrow.)
Heaven shield him forever from trouble and sorrow!
Sleep, my own darling,
By, baby, by;
Mother is with thee,
By, baby, by.
Those dear little ringlets, so silky and bright!
(I do hope the muffins will be nice and light.)
How lovely he is! (Yes, she said she could fry.)
Oh, what would I do if my baby should die!
By, baby, by;
Mother is with thee,
By, baby, by.
Those dear little ringlets, so silky and bright!
(I do hope the muffins will be nice and light.)
How lovely he is! (Yes, she said she could fry.)
Oh, what would I do if my baby should die!
Sleep, my own darling,
By, baby, by;
Mother is with thee,
By, baby, by.
That sweet little hand, and the soft, dimpled cheek!
Sleep, darling. (I'll have his clothes shortened this week.
How tightly he 's holding my dress! I'm afraid
He'll wake when I move. There! his bed is n't made!
By, baby, by;
Mother is with thee,
By, baby, by.
186
Sleep, darling. (I'll have his clothes shortened this week.
How tightly he 's holding my dress! I'm afraid
He'll wake when I move. There! his bed is n't made!
Sleep, my own darling,
By, baby, by;
In thy soft cradle
Peacefully lie.
(He 's settled at last. But I can't leave him so,
Though I ought to be going this instant, I know.
There 's everything standing and waiting down-stairs.
Ah me, but a mother is cumbered with cares!)
By, baby, by;
In thy soft cradle
Peacefully lie.
(He 's settled at last. But I can't leave him so,
Though I ought to be going this instant, I know.
There 's everything standing and waiting down-stairs.
Ah me, but a mother is cumbered with cares!)
| Poems and verses by Mary Mapes Dodge | |