For love of Him who smote our lives,

And woke the chords of joy and pain, We said, Dear Christ!-our hearts bent down

Like violets after rain.

And now the orchards, which were white And red with blossoms when she came, Were rich in autumn's mellow prime; The cluster'd apples burnt like flame, The soft-cheek'd peaches blush'd and fell, The ivory chestnut burst its shell,

The grapes hung purpling in the grange; And time wrought just as rich a change In little Baby Bell.

Her lissome form more perfect grew,

And in her features we could trace, In soften'd curves, her mother's face. Her angel-nature ripen'd too: We thought her lovely when she came, But she was holy, saintly now:Around her pale angelic brow We saw a slender ring of flame!

God's hand had taken away the seal

That held the portals of her speech;

And oft she said a few strange words

She only look'd more meek and fair!
We parted back her silken hair,
We wove the roses round her brow,
White buds, the summer's drifted snow,-
Wrapt her from head to foot in flowers!
And thus went dainty Baby Bell
Out of this world of ours!

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.

WHERE DID YOU COME FROM?

WHERE did you come from, baby dear?
Out of the everywhere into here.
Where did get your eyes so blue?
Out of the sky as I came through.

What makes the light in them sparkle and spin?

Some of the starry spikes left in.

Where did you get that little tear?

I found it waiting when I got here.

What makes your forehead so smooth and high?

A soft hand stroked it as I went by.

What makes your cheek like a white rose?

warm

She never was a child to us,

We never held her being's key;
We could not teach her holy things:
She was Christ's self in purity.

It came upon us by degrees,
We saw its shadow ere it fell,—
The knowledge that our God had sent
His messenger for Baby Bell.

We shudder'd with unlanguaged pain,
And all our hopes were changed to fears,
And all our thoughts ran into tears
Like sunshine into rain.
We cried aloud in our belief,
"Oh, smite us gently, gently, God!
Teach us to bend and kiss the rod,
And perfect grow through grief."
Ah, how we loved her, God can tell;
Her heart was folded deep in ours.

Our hearts are broken, Baby Bell!

At last he came, the messenger,

The messenger from unseen lands: And what did dainty Baby Bell? She only cross'd her little hands,

knows.

Whence that three-corner'd smile of bliss?
Three angels gave me at once a kiss.

Where did you get this pearly ear?
God spoke, and it came out to hear.

Where did you get those arms and hands?
Love made itself into hooks and bands.

Feet, whence did you come, you darling things?

From the same box as the cherubs' wings.

How did they all come just to be you?
God thought of me, and so I grew.
But how did you come to us, you dear?
God thought of you, and so I am here.

GEORGE MACDONALD.

"SWEET AND LOW." SWEET and low, sweet and low,

Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea!

Over the rolling waters go,

Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me,

But smile not, as thy father did,
To cozen maids: nay, God forbid !
Bot yett I feire, thou wilt gae neire

sleeps.

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,

Father will come to thee soon;
Rest, rest, on mother's breast,
Father will come to thee soon;
Father will come to his babe in the
nest,

Silver sails all out of the west

Under the silver moon:

Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one,

sleep.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

LULLABY.

GOLDEN slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise.
Sleep, pretty wantons; do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby:
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

Care is heavy, therefore sleep you;
You are care, and care must keep you.
Sleep, pretty wantons; do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby :

Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

THOMAS DEKKER.

LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT.

BALOW, my babe, lye stil and sleipe!
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe:
If thou'st be silent, I'se be glad,
Thy maining maks my heart ful sad.
Balow, my boy, thy mother's joy,
Thy father breides me great annoy.
Balow, my babe, ly still and sleipe,
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.

Whan he began to court my luve,
And with his sugred wordes to muve,
His faynings fals, and flattering cheire
To me that time did not appeire:
But now I see, most cruell hee
Cares neither for my babe nor mee.

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe,
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.

Ly stil, my darling, sleipe a while,
And when thou wakest, sweitly smile:

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe, It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. I cannae chuse, but ever will Be luving to thy father stil: Whair-eir he gae, whair-eir he ryde, My luve with him doth stil abyde: In weil or wae, whair-eir he gae, Mine hart can neire depart him frae. Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe, It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. But doe not, doe not, pretty mine, To faynings fals thine hart incline; Be loyal to thy luver trew, And nevir change her for a new: If gude or faire, of hir have care, For women's banning's wondrous sair. Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe, It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. Bairne, sin thy cruel father is gane, Thy winsome smiles maun eise my paine; My babe and I'll together live, He'll comfort me when cares doe grieve: My babe and I right saft will ly, And quite forgeit man's cruelty.

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe, It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. Fareweil, fareweil, thou falsest youth, That evir kist a woman's mouth! I wish all maides be warn'd by mee Nevir to trust man's curtesy; For if we doe bot chance to bow, They'll use us than they care not how. Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe, It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.

AUTHOR UNKNOWN.

CRADLE SONG.

[From the German.] SLEEP, baby, sleep!

Thy father's watching the sheep,
Thy mother's shaking the dreamland tree,
And down drops a little dream for thee.
Sleep, baby, sleep!

Sleep, baby, sleep!

The large stars are the sheep,

The little stars are the lambs, I guess,

The bright moon is the shepherdess.

Sleep, baby, sleep.

Sleep, baby, sleep!

And cry not like a sheep.

Else the sheep-dog will bark and whine, And bite this naughty child of mine. Sleep, baby, sleep!

Sleep, baby, sleep!

Thy Saviour loves His sheep;

He is the Lamb of God on high

Who for our sakes came down to die. Sleep, baby, sleep!

Sleep, baby, sleep!

Away to tend the sheep,

Away, thou sheep-dog fierce and wild, And do not harm my sleeping child! Sleep, baby, sleep!

ELIZABETH PRENTISS.

THE ANGELS' WHISPER.

A BABY was sleeping;

Its mother was weeping;

For her husband was far on the wild raging

sea;

And the tempest was swelling
Round the fisherman's dwelling;

And she cried, "Dermot, darling, oh come back to me!"

Her beads while she number'd,
The baby still slumber'd,

And smiled in her face as she bended her

knee:

"Oh, blest be that warning,

My child, thy sleep adorning,

For I know that the angels are whispering

with thee!

"And while they are keeping

Bright watch o'er thy sleeping,

Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me!
And say thou wouldst rather
They'd watch o'er thy father!

For I know that the angels are whispering to thee."

The dawn of the morning

Saw Dermot returning,

THE CHILD AND THE WATCHER.

SLEEP on, baby on the floor,
Tired of all thy playing-
Sleep with smile the sweeter for
That you dropped away in;
On your curls, fair roundness stand
Golden lights serenely;

One cheek, push'd out by the hand,
Folds the dimple inly-
Little head and little foot

Heavy laid for pleasure;
Underneath the lids half-shut
Plants the shining azure;
Open-soul'd in noonday sun,
So, you lie and slumber;
Nothing evil having done,
Nothing can encumber.
I, who cannot sleep as well,
Shall I sigh to view you?
Or sigh further to foretell

All that may undo you?
Nay, keep smiling, little child,
Ere the fate appeareth!

I smile too; for patience mild
Pleasure's token weareth.
Nay, keep sleeping before loss;
I shall sleep, though losing !
As by cradle, so by cross,

Sweet is the reposing.

And God knows, who sees us twain,
Child at childish leisure,

I am all as tired of pain

As you are of pleasure.
Very soon, too, by His grace,
Gently wrapt around me,
I shall show as calm a face,
I shall sleep as soundly-
Differing in this, that you

Clasp your playthings sleeping.
While my hand must drop the few

Given to my keeping

Differing in this, that I,

Sleeping, must be colder,

And, in waking presently,

Brighter to beholder—
Differing in this, beside
(Sleeper, have you heard me?
Do you move and open wide
Your great eyes toward me?),
That while I you draw withal
From this slumber solely,
Me, from mine, an angel shall,
Trumpet-tongued and holy!

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

SWEET BABY, SLEEP.

SWEET baby, sleep! what ails my dear?
What ails my darling, thus to cry?
Be still, my child, and lend thine ear,
To hear me sing thy lullaby.
My pretty lamb, forbear to weep;
Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep.

Thou blessed soul, what canst thou fear? What thing to thee can mischief do? Thy God is now thy Father dear,

His holy Spouse thy mother too. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Though thy conception was in sin,

A sacred bathing thou hast had; And though thy birth unclean hath been, A blameless babe thou now art made. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep.

While thus thy lullaby I sing,

For thee great blessings ripening be; Thine eldest brother is a King,

And hath a kingdom bought for thee. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Sweet baby, sleep, and nothing fear;
For whosoever thee offends
By thy Protector threaten'd are,

And God and angels are thy friends.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

When God with us was dwelling here,
In little babes He took delight;
Such innocents as thou, my dear,
Are ever precious in His sight.

Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
A little infant once was He;

And strength in weakness then was laid Upon His virgin mother's knee,

That power to thee might be convey'd. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

In this thy frailty and thy need

He friends and helpers doth prepare, Which thee shall cherish, clothe, and feed, For of thy weal they tender are. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

The King of kings, when He was born,

Had not so much for outward ease; By Him such dressings were not worn,

Nor such-like swaddling-clothes as these. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Within a manger lodged thy Lord,

Where oxen lay and asses fed: Warm rooms we do to thee afford, An easy cradle or a bed. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

The wants that He did then sustain Have purchased wealth, my babe, for thee;

And by His torments and His pain

Thy rest and ease securèd be.
My baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Thou hast, yet more to perfect this,
A promise and an earnest got
Of gaining everlasting bliss,

Though thou, my babe, perceiv'st it not:
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

GEORGE WITHER.

CRADLE HYMN.

HUSH, my dear! Lie still and slumber!
Holy angels guard thy bed!

Heavenly blessings without number,
Gently falling on thy head.