“In This Cradle Life of Ours.”

THE world swings slowly back and forth,

From dawn to dusk, from dusk to dawn,

And we forget the hand that rocks,

But, cradle-like, the world swings on.

A little while to stir and fret,

Or sob with trembling lip

Because the sunbeams we would grasp

Through helpless fingers slip.

A little while to moan, and start

From fevered dreams, and weep,

For still the cradle sways and swings

Until we fall asleep.

The broad earth's pillow is so soft

To weary heads, and who can tell

But through that sleep sound lullabies

Of the white angel, Israfel?