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.