“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?