A LULLABY

Little brown feet, that have grown so weary,

Plodding on through the heat of day,

Mother will hold you, mother will fold you

Safe to her breast; little feet, rest;

Now is the time to cease from play.

Little brown hands, that through day's long hours

Never rested, be still at last;

Mother will rest you; come, then, and nest you

Here by her side, nestle and hide;

Creep to her heart and hold it fast.

Little brown head, on my shoulder lying,

Night is coming and day is dead;

Mother will sing you songs, that shall bring you

Childhood's soft sleep, quiet and deep;

Sweet be your dreams, O dear brown head.