_A Hushaby Song

The stars are twinkling in the skies, The earth is lost in slumber deep-- So hush, my sweet, and close your eyes And let me lull your soul to sleep; Compose thy dimpled hands to rest, And like a little birdling lie Secure within thy cosy nest Upon my mother breast And slumber to my lullaby; So hushaby, oh, hushaby.

The moon is singing to the star The little song I sing to you, The father Sun has strayed afar-- As baby's sire is straying, too, And so the loving mother moon Sings to the little star on high, And as she sings, her gentle tune Is borne to me, and thus I croon To thee, my sweet, that lullaby Of hushaby, oh, hushaby.

There is a little one asleep That does not hear his mother's song, But angel-watchers as I weep Surround his grave the night-tide long; And as I sing, my sweet, to you, Oh, would the lullaby I sing-- The same sweet lullaby he knew When slumbering on this bosom, too-- Were borne to him on angel wing! So hushaby, oh, hushaby._

The second of these songs bears the same title as one of Field's favorite tales, and is inscribed, "To Jessie Bartlett Davis on the first anniversary of her little boy's birth, October 6th, 1884":