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 Copyright. 1915. by Marjwiic Klainc Pi.rte 
 Detroit 
 
 DEC -6 1915 
 
 ©GIA4 14901 
 '7^ / . 
 
(Hoittpnts 
 
 T-wo Lililc Sparl^s 9 
 
 To Ml; Friends II 
 
 SnoTV Angels 13 
 
 The Victor - 16 
 
 Success 17 
 
 A Lillle Old Bumlle of Letters 18 
 
 To a Dandelion 20 
 
 A Caravan of Clouds 21 
 
 The Optimists Song 23 
 
 Youth 24 
 
 Egeria 25 
 
 The Holiday Spirit 29 
 
 A Modern Boy Blue 30 
 
 The Stars 32 
 
 Art 33 
 
 To the IVhite Carnations 35 
 
 "Ich Liehe Dick'' 36 
 
 To a Child's Prayer 37 
 
 Liberty, O Liberty 38 
 
 Inspiration 39 
 
 The Chimes 40 
 
 Lullaby 42 
 
Eb iKs 3Fr!rnb0 
 
Prpfarp 
 
 // you stand in an open valley 
 And call, then from far aipap 
 
 Your voice comes back '" an echo. 
 As if mocked by a mimicking fay. 
 
 For beyond is a mystic power. 
 
 In the depths of the hills somelphere. 
 
 That catches the voice and returns it. 
 Echoing back through the air. 
 
 So the heart, like the open valley. 
 
 When the voice of emotion is strong. 
 
 Catches the strains of feeling. 
 
 And echoes the thought in song. 
 
Trvo little spurks on Christmas night 
 
 Out of the y)ule-log fteiv. 
 They gazed around in great delight. 
 
 And Tvondered what to do. 
 
 Up to a chair then softly went 
 
 Two little sparks so gay. 
 Each winked an eye as on mischief bent 
 
 They cli.iihed the chair in play. 
 
 Up in the chair sat a great, big man. 
 
 His face was cruel and cold. 
 But the two sparks — do you think they ran. 
 
 Those little sparks so hold? 
 
 ''Now come,'' said one, **we'd better siart- 
 And well that We start soon — 
 To melt the ice that is Wound his heart. 
 We can give no greater boon.'' 
 
 Into a heart all cold and sere 
 Jumped the two sparks so Warm, 
 
 ''Oh!" said one, ''but it's cold in here. 
 Be quick, give the alarm.** 
 
 Nine 
 
Out of the yule-log glowing brighU 
 
 The sparks came tp the score. 
 They rapped and rapped with all their mighty 
 
 And knocked at the cold heart's door. 
 
 And two sparks on the inner side 
 Pulled 'till the door gave 'way. 
 
 Into the heart then, flushed with pride. 
 Rushed all the sparks so gay. 
 
 They warmed the heart to its very core. 
 And then when all were through. 
 
 Bright little sparklets by the score. 
 Back to the fire flew. 
 
 Now, in the chair sat a great, big man 
 Whose face was soft and kin^> 
 
 He said, '7 will help all I can. 
 Whoever I may find!" 
 
 Two little sparks on Christmas night. 
 
 Lay in their glowing bed. 
 Those little sparks so warm and bright. 
 
 And this is what they said: 
 
 Ten 
 
''Heres to the log, the Christmas yule. 
 Whose flames melt ice and snoTV, 
 
 Here's to us sparks, for 'tis our rule 
 To set cold hearts aglorvF' 
 
 ^ 
 
 Sin M\x 3FrtPtta0 
 
 There are many threatening clouds. 
 There are many hitter tears. 
 
 That come gathering in crowds, 
 Down the vistas of our years. 
 
 There are many heavy loads 
 
 We must bend our hacks to bear. 
 
 There are rough and stony roads. 
 There are yokes We chafe to wear. 
 
 Eleven 
 
There are many heart-rvrung sighs. 
 There are man'^ nights of pain. 
 
 When Tve watch mih weary eyes 
 For the day to come again. 
 
 But the clouds arent half so dark. 
 And a broken heart will mend 
 
 If enkindled by the spark 
 
 That Cod made, and men call ''friend. 
 
 And the burden loses weight. 
 You can take a firmer stand. 
 
 If those sisters we call ''Fate,'' 
 Let you grasp a friendly hand. 
 
 For your sigh wont be so deep 
 
 When the day comes to an end. 
 And you II smiling fall asleep — 
 // you re sure you have a friend. 
 
 Twelve 
 
Silenil]), stealthily, 
 
 Down through the night. 
 Glide little snoTv spirits 
 
 In garments rvhite. 
 
 V/hirling and t'lpirling. 
 They dance in the air, 
 
 DoTvn to the dreary earth 
 Out of the — Where? 
 
 Where do you come from 
 
 O florvers of snow? 
 In gardens above 
 
 Do you blossom and grow? 
 
 Come you from Heaven, 
 You wee, fluffy things? 
 
 Are you feathers that fall 
 From the seraphim's wings? 
 
 Are you down from the couches 
 
 Where cherubim lie? 
 Tell me your secret 
 
 You folk of the sky^ 
 
 Thirteen 
 
Hark! do I dream it? 
 
 Or actually hear 
 The voices of snow-flakes 
 
 Abuzz in mp ear: 
 
 ''We are Tvee angels. 
 
 Our Father is God, 
 He sent us to cover 
 
 The hard, barren sod. 
 
 He sent us to shelter 
 
 The flowers below. 
 With a warm fleecy blanket, 
 
 'Till spring bids them grow. 
 
 He sent us to hasten 
 
 The birds on their way. 
 
 To warn them of winter 
 And not to dela}). 
 
 To pe, doubting mortals. 
 We come from above. 
 
 To show that the Father 
 Has infinite love. 
 
 Fourteen 
 
For if to the florvers 
 
 And the birds He is true. 
 Then trust, in ^our sorrow. 
 
 Hell not forget pou." 
 
 Little snoTP-spirits 
 
 That dance in the air, 
 
 Tve learned your siveet lesson. 
 And this is mp praver: 
 
 Little snow-angels 
 
 That glide through the night. 
 Come, cover mp garments 
 
 With vestrrents of white. 
 
 You've taught me to trust 
 
 In mp Father above. 
 And /, too, would be clothed 
 
 In the robe of His love. 
 
 Fifteen 
 
Ell? Utrtnr 
 
 // / asked ^ou your fondest ambition, 
 
 I can tell you just Tvhat you would say, 
 
 ''To accomplish a wonderful mission. 
 To be a victor, a hero, someday.'' 
 
 Perhaps like Napoleon or Caesar 
 
 You would conquer the World with your sWord, 
 And your name on the tablets of history 
 
 'Mid the famous, would be your reward. 
 
 Perhaps as an orator gifted. 
 
 You would win a great cause for your state. 
 And in life's long procession 
 
 March in the ranks of the great. 
 
 But the strongest and noblest of victors. 
 Who doth neither slaughter nor rant. 
 
 Is the man with the will made of iron 
 
 V/ho conquers the two Words, '7 can't." 
 
 Sixteen 
 
If ])ou have not the gift of a Hon:er, 
 
 Nor a voice like a siren of old. 
 If ^ou cannot paint }^our conceptions. 
 
 Nor like Midas turn dross into gold; 
 But if \)ou are kind to your comrades^ 
 
 And help them on life's rockv road. 
 If you change someone's sighs into laughter. 
 
 Or lighten a Tveary mans load. 
 Though your laurels may not be many. 
 
 And your harvests from life be less. 
 If youve founded the Kingdom of Kindness 
 
 Youve rvon the croTvn of success. 
 
 Seventeen 
 
There s a little old trunh in the attic 
 That's laden n>iih treasures of ^ore. 
 
 Sweet hy;-§cn2s and has-hecns of y^esteryear. 
 Now added to memor])'s store. 
 
 There's a little old bundle of letters 
 
 That lies in it, hidden awa^. 
 Guarding the secrets of ^ester])ear. 
 
 From the bustling, gruff today. 
 
 In thai Utile old bundle of letters. 
 
 Tied with a ribbon of blue. 
 Is the story) of grandmother s wooing. 
 
 Of a love thai was pure and true. 
 
 And I think, ^^ ^ handle them fondly. 
 And dream of that far-off day. 
 
 If those letters a tongue could be given, 
 I wonder if this they would say: 
 
 ''Just a little old bundle of letters. 
 
 Tied with a ribbon of blue. 
 Now, faded, forgotten old relics. 
 
 But once, we were precious and new. 
 
 Eighteen 
 
Sal;, where are the lovers n^ho I^new us. 
 Where, rvhcre are those hearts so true? 
 
 And where is the dear hand that trembled 
 When it tied this old ribbon of blue? 
 
 Have they gone, gone axva}) then forever. 
 
 Far off to that distant shore? 
 And we, poor little bundle of memories. 
 
 Shall we be treasured no more?*' 
 
 O dear little bundle of letters, 
 
 Tho' you are faded and old. 
 To me you re as priceless a treasure 
 
 As a bundle of jewels and gold. 
 
 For golden are memory's treasures 
 
 And the love-beams that dart 
 Through your pages, I k^ow, come from jewels 
 
 That sparkle and shine in the heart. 
 
 In the little old trunk in the attic, 
 
 I laid, then, aWay with a sigh. 
 Not ''faded, forgotten, old relics,'* 
 
 But a treasure no fortune could buy. 
 
 Nineteen 
 
3l0 u Bmlitlmx 
 
 I found this little dandelion 
 Trying to mock the sun. 
 
 So I thought Vd pluck iU 
 And send it ''just for fun.*' 
 
 I k^oxv it's very common. 
 And some are Tvont to say 
 
 That it is a dreadful nuisance. 
 But to me, iCs sTifeet caid gay. 
 
 Because it's always smiling. 
 
 It never Tvears a frown. 
 It's a plucky, htile flcw'ret 
 
 That rvont he trampled down. 
 
 The violet may he modest. 
 
 And the rose deck hanquet hall. 
 But the smiling, plucky dandelion s 
 
 Moral's best of all! 
 
 Twenty 
 
A Qlaranatt nf Olloufta 
 
 Across the desert of the blue 
 
 There moved, one summer s da)), 
 
 A caravan of fleecy clouds 
 Thai came from far away. 
 
 I Watched it as it moved along. 
 
 Laden with summer rain. 
 And speculated on the shapes 
 
 That formed the endless train. 
 
 There was a mammoth bird with wings 
 
 And breast of fieecy white. 
 And there were km§^ in robes of clouds 
 With crowns of golden light. 
 
 And there were arks and floats and ships 
 
 All rigged with mast and sail. 
 That glided in the heaven s blue 
 
 Along the pathless trail. 
 
 And there were wondrous forms and shapes 
 
 Of beast and bird and man. 
 Thai rolled along with solemn grace 
 
 In the magical caravan. 
 
 Tzventy-one 
 
Steadil}^ and on it came. 
 
 At a slorv and dream}) pace. 
 
 Where, O n^here will its journey end 
 In the boundless realms of space? 
 
 Twenty-two 
 
0I|r (©pttmtfit g>0ttg 
 
 O, / heed not the pessimisms humor, 
 Nor his stories and tales of woe, 
 
 Fm alxva^s glad, I avoid being sad, 
 Fm happ}) Tpherever I go! 
 
 O, it's easy to make the best of things 
 If you dont grieve over the past, 
 
 'Cause it doesnt pay, and I always say 
 That the future is coming too fast. 
 
 So you see that Fm an optimist. 
 
 As decided as one can be! 
 Life gives you some bumps, — dont get in the 
 ''dumps,'' 
 
 But just come and join hands with me! 
 
 Twenty -three 
 
/ knorv of a queer little spirit 
 
 That doth change like the rveather-vane, 
 Blonm jp the winds of emotion. 
 Now thoughtful, noTV joyous agan. 
 
 As strong and as Tvild as a lion, 
 
 NoH) gay, as the hirdlings that sing, 
 
 NoTV modest and shy as a violet, 
 Non> haughty and hold as a king. 
 
 Now angry, yet as brave and as noble 
 As the knights in the days gone by. 
 
 Now tender and ki^d as an angel 
 When someone in trouble doth cry. 
 
 M^ayward and blind to life's follies. 
 Believes all it hears to be truth. 
 
 Can you guess, friend, of whom I a:n telling? 
 'Tis the sweet, loving spirit of youth. 
 
 T zv e n t y - f u r 
 
Twilight, when thy sweet presence fills the earth. 
 
 The dreams of the poet leap to birth. 
 
 The musician lists, and bends his ear. 
 
 Far in //ip depths he seems to hear 
 
 A voice thai is singing sWe2i and slow. 
 
 His soul responds and murmurs low, 
 
 Softh he touches the silent strings, 
 
 A moment's pause, and lo, the muse sings, 
 
 Onl'^ a drear.er, I too, feel 
 
 The charm of f/ilj presence, I bend and ^nee/. 
 
 And kneeling there in the pale moonbeams, 
 
 A worshipper at the shrine of dreams, 
 
 I see the ages marching b]). 
 
 In solemn stream before my eye. 
 
 Each with its poet, sculptor, sage — 
 
 And lo, they pause at the ''Golden Age,*' 
 
 A Grecian minstrel comes forth with 
 
 An ancient lyre and chants this myth: 
 
 ''She was a nymph, fair of face. 
 
 Stately of form., with charming grace. 
 
 Who lived in a fountain and dreamed and played. 
 
 Until a youth to the fountain strayed, 
 
 Tiventy-five 
 
He told her of the gods above. 
 
 He taught her lessons of wisdom and love. 
 
 To her, more precious than gems or gold 
 
 Were the lessons he taught and the talcs he told. 
 
 At the touch of his hand, at the sound of h's voice 
 
 The heart of the ma'den would leap and rejoice. 
 
 And, then, one n.orn at the fountain s brim 
 
 The smiling Egeria waited for hi n, 
 
 'Till ros^ dawn had slipped awav. 
 
 And noon, and waning day 
 
 Closed her faint eyes and sanl( to rest, 
 
 Egeria waited with heaving breast. 
 
 Then from the blackness of nighfs abyss 
 
 A Weird, low voice was murmuring this, 
 
 'Thou waiiest thy lover, O saddest of maids. 
 
 He is dead, he hath gone to the Land of Shades.' 
 
 A moment speechless, stunned, amazed. 
 
 The frightened nymph in the darkness gazed — 
 
 And then like a wounded dove, she fell. 
 
 Ah, the depths of that wound no tongue can tell. 
 
 *He is dead, hz hath gone,' she cried in her woe. 
 
 Like the mocking of fate came hack the echo. 
 
 From, dawn's first smile, 'till the day had fled 
 
 Egeria mourned for her lover dead. 
 
 Twenty-six 
 
Dav after da^, the sad n'^mph pined. 
 No source of comfort could she find, 
 'Till the gods locked dorvn from the'r mighty 
 
 mountain 
 And changed her into a rippling fountain. 
 And ever as thou wand' rest near 
 A fountain s boso:n thou rpili hear 
 A scng of sorroii> and of pain 
 Burdened in this sad refrain: 
 
 'Lover mine, I rise to seek thee 
 
 In the rising spra};. 
 Each bright morn I hope to greet thee. 
 
 Woe is mine each day. 
 
 As the fountain leapeth, leapeth. 
 
 Just to fall again. 
 So ?np hopes have hounded upward. 
 
 But to fall in vain. 
 
 As the fountain softly^ murmurs 
 
 To the heavens above. 
 So forever shall I murmur 
 
 My eternal love. 
 
 Twenty-seven 
 
Lover dead, O J will love ihee 
 
 'Till this fountain s spra]) 
 Hath been quaffed b^ might]) Phoebus 
 
 And the marble moulds aiva])/ " 
 
 Fainter and fainter the nzinstrel seems. 
 He fades aiva^ in a maze of dreams. 
 His vision o'er, the poet sighs. 
 At last he closes his wear}) e])es. 
 The musician lies in the realms of sleep. 
 In his violin s bosom the muse slun.bers deep. 
 Mine eyes grow dim, my head sinJ^s low. 
 Sleep is conquering steady and slow. 
 But before I surrender I humbly pray 
 That /, just a dreamer, at the close of day. 
 May see again, 'mid the pale moonbeams 
 The spirits who dwell in the Temple of Dreams. 
 
 T li' e n t y - e i g h t 
 
(Ell? l^olt^a^ g'^trlt 
 
 Now I have not a genius for poeiri). 
 
 Like the masters of olden time. 
 But the joy of the holiday season 
 
 Has n:oved my soul into rhyme. 
 
 You re counting the days uniil Christmas, 
 You have your list written, I wiss. 
 
 But just for a little, wee moment. 
 Please turn ycur attention to this: 
 
 The clouds send the snow down to cover 
 
 The earth that is barren and brown. 
 And the earth draws it closely around her. 
 While the wind is sprcad'.ng it down. 
 
 Een the clouds and the winds in this season 
 
 Are helping whoever they may. 
 For they, too, have the holiday spirit. 
 
 That com.es with glad Christmas day. 
 
 For it isnt the gift that we offer. 
 
 It isnt just what we receive, 
 I{s the spirit of Cod in the giving 
 
 That makes value, is what I believe. 
 
 T w e n t y - n in c 
 
So come n>ith your boxes and bundles. 
 
 When pou hear the gap szo.sons call. 
 That you may have the true ''Holiday 
 Spirit.' ' 
 Is my Christjras wish for you all! 
 
 ^ 
 
 A iJJnknt lag llu^ 
 
 (With apologies to E. F.) 
 
 His old tennis racket is covered with dust. 
 But staunch in the corner it stands; 
 
 His two little golf sticks are red with rust^ 
 And his bathing suit molds in his hands. 
 
 Thirty 
 
Tine n>as, TvJicn that old tennis racJ^et tvas nen\ 
 And the golf sticks sTvung in the air; 
 
 Tirm was, when the bathing suit plunged in deep 
 blue. 
 Time was, when all were fair. 
 
 On September the first he had sadl^ said, 
 
 'Til be back '" ^ V<^cir, old boys.'' 
 And toddling off to his trundle bed 
 
 He dreamt of his prett]^ to^^s. 
 
 And while /le Was dreaming an alarm clock ^ong 
 
 Awakened our Utile Boy Blue, 
 He got up just in time for the eight o'clock gong. 
 
 So Utile toy friends, adieu! 
 
 Aye, faithful to Utile Boy Blue they stand. 
 
 Each in the same old place. 
 Awaiting the grasp of a muscular hand. 
 
 And the smile of a sunburned face. 
 
 As they longingly wait the school-hours through. 
 
 They sigh from moon to moon — 
 As over long lessons does little Boy Blue — - 
 
 "Gee, but I wish it were June!" 
 
 Thirty-one 
 
The day is softly slumbering 
 
 'Neath the canopy of night. 
 And like candles at her bed-posts. 
 
 The little stars shine bright. 
 
 J sit in meditation 
 
 That befits the end of day. 
 And ponder o'er those tTpinf(!ing stars. 
 
 So many leagues arvay. 
 
 Arc they lights that shine from Heaven, 
 Through the ebony n>alls of night. 
 
 To give the strength and the courage 
 That rve nsed in this earthly fight? 
 
 Are they those who have gone and left us. 
 
 Souls whom Cod hath willed 
 To shine and to show the doubtful 
 That his promise hath been 'filled? 
 
 Or are they merely planets. 
 
 In the boundless realms of space. 
 
 Thai move in the solar system. 
 With solemn and awful grace? 
 
 T h i r t y - t w 
 
Are the^ — but why should I ponder. 
 
 And strive in vain to find 
 The hidden truths and masteries 
 
 That belong to the infinite mind? 
 
 Enough, Lord, forgive my presumption, 
 
 O stars, that eternally shine. 
 Because thou art past human knowledge 
 
 Thou wert wrought by a Power Divine. 
 
 ^ 
 
 Art 
 
 You ask rne what Art is. 
 And 'though it is mine 
 
 To know and love this treasure, 
 Alas, not to define. 
 
 In vain I sit and ponder. 
 
 For my struggling mind 
 Gropes at so great a subject. 
 And stumbles as 'twere blind. 
 
 Thirty-three 
 
But this is a dreamer s fanc^. 
 
 As I feel it in my heart 
 ril /rij with m\j pen to tell \)ou. 
 
 Of this wonderful gift called ''Art.' 
 
 MethinJ^s mans finer instincts 
 
 That reach toward the higher goal. 
 
 With the love for noble beaut]). 
 Are the elements of the soul. 
 
 What is art hut the instinct. 
 
 That strives with passionate love 
 
 To fill the world with beaut}) 
 Like unto realms above? 
 
 And down through all the ages. 
 Since Creation s flag unfurled. 
 
 The greater, nobler things have come 
 From Art, the soul of the world. 
 
 Thirty-four 
 
00 tl|r 1iI|Uf Olantatmtts 
 
 The poets ma^ sing of the roses. 
 
 Queenly in hearing and hue. 
 Of the violet that peeps 'neath the grasses. 
 
 Kissed by the sunshine and deW. 
 
 Of the lih 50 pure and so fragrant. 
 
 Of the tulip that blooms in the spring. 
 
 Of the wild flowers tender and modest, 
 Joy to all spirits they bring. 
 
 But the sweetest and dearest of flowers. 
 Reigning as queens o'er the others. 
 
 Are these, the white, stately carnations, 
 Worn as the emblem of mothers. 
 
 Thirty-iiv 3 
 
••3ltl| Hifhp §itk" 
 
 The^ stood in the hallxvay. 
 The guests had all gone 
 
 But Richard and Mar};, 
 Who stood there alone. 
 
 *7 love pou," he whispered. 
 
 In soft tones of glee, 
 ''But what in return, dear. 
 
 Will y)Ou sa"^ to me?'' 
 
 She waited a moment. 
 
 They heard the clock tick. 
 
 Then she laughingly; murmured, 
 "O ich liehe Dick-'' 
 
 Thirty 
 
Th\) pra;^€rs. Utile darling, I knorv 
 
 Arise like the songs of a bird. 
 From the lips of th^ soul 
 To the Heavenly §caU 
 
 And b}^ the Master are heard. 
 
 Full of innocence, sweetness and hope 
 
 They rise to realms so fair. 
 As the birdlings sTveet song. 
 Cheers the n>eak ones along. 
 
 So 'tis Tvith me and thy prayer. 
 
 When the bird Tvakes at rise of the sun. 
 
 His sTveet song he never forgets. 
 So remember to pray 
 At the break of the day. 
 
 And join the birds when the sun sets. 
 
 In winter when birds journey south 
 They sing the same song, O so rare. 
 
 For no matter strange skies 
 
 The bird sings 'till he dies. 
 
 And so let it be with thy prayer. 
 
 T h i r t y - s e V e n 
 
ffiibfrtii, © ffitbrrto 
 
 When in some foreign despoCs land 
 That trembles 'neath an iron hand. 
 Where hearts are D^earp, weal^ and sad. 
 Then, thou alone can make them glad. 
 With love m^ voice rings out for thee, 
 Libertvi, O liberty! 
 
 Thou art a voice from heavn above. 
 Thy meaning justice, peace and love. 
 Thou art the emblem of our land. 
 The ensign of this noble band. 
 And all shall prosper under thee^ 
 Liberty, O liberty! 
 
 Thirty-eight 
 
Ofi' mp soul reminds me 
 
 Of a little tree. 
 Bowed and bent b^ breezes 
 
 That blow across life's lea. 
 
 Anger is the north wind. 
 
 But when the storm is o'er. 
 
 The sweet breeze of repentance 
 Corr.es from a southern shore. 
 
 Gladness is the West wind. 
 
 Dancing in its mirth. 
 Strong from the east comes sorrow. 
 
 That bends the tree to earth. 
 
 Cod, grant m^ soul ma]^ broaden. 
 Grow upward like the tree. 
 
 And stand at the end, with the poplar. 
 Stretching its arms to Thee. 
 
 T h i r t y - n i 11 e 
 
®l|^ Qll|uttr0 
 
 The chimes Were ringing on Christmas eve'. 
 
 In a belfry old and dim. 
 Now theyj played a carol bright. 
 
 And now a sacred hymn. 
 
 They all rang out in the highest glee 
 
 Till the frosty air was rent. 
 All but one, who did not join 
 
 In the tones of merriment. 
 
 There hung far back in the corner. 
 
 An old disfigured chime. 
 Who showed by his broken places 
 
 That he came of another time. 
 
 None of the young chimes /fneip or cared 
 
 Whether he rang or no. 
 He was the last of the dear old set. 
 Ah, but he missed them so! 
 
 His tones were the finest and sweetest then, 
 
 And surely notes so fair 
 Could not be mute forever. 
 
 When some of the chords were there. 
 
 Forty 
 
Then when the others were quiet. 
 
 Out oj the corner dim. 
 In accents soft and melloiv 
 
 There came the Christmas hymn. 
 
 In arve the young chimes started. 
 For they thought he had no tongue. 
 
 And then in a gladsome chorus 
 
 Burst forth the old and the young! 
 
 Forty-one 
 
The old moon is hlin}{ing. 
 As if he Were Tvinking, 
 
 Down at tn>o eyes of blue. 
 The zh a don) -sprites creeping. 
 Come silently peeping 
 
 Into those eyes of you. 
 
 They Tvill tremble and qual^e. 
 If they find you re awal(e. 
 
 So you must off to sleep; 
 And the old sand-man sighs. 
 Drops his grains in your eyes 
 
 'Till they begin to peep. 
 
 The little stars shine. 
 From the sky, baby mine. 
 
 And twinkle the long night through, 
 So while you re asleep. 
 They'll be there, watch to k^ep. 
 
 Like candles that shine for you. 
 
 F o r f y - t w o 
 
The old wind is singing. 
 The baby-birds swinging 
 
 Up in the branches high. 
 From beneath mother's wing. 
 Does each wee, downy^ thing 
 
 Hark io his lullaby. 
 
 So harden and rest. 
 Little bird, on my breast. 
 
 And out on the dream-sea wide, 
 'Till morning's bright light 
 Parts the curtains of night. 
 
 Off into dreamland glide. 
 
ip- 
 

 
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