Where Do All the Daisies Go?

Where do all the daisies go?
 I know, I know!
 Underneath the snow they creep,
 Nod their little heads and sleep,
 In the springtime out they peep;
 That is where they go!
Where do all the birdies go?
 I know, I know!
 Far away from winter snow
 To the fair, warm South they go;
 There they stay till daisies blow,
 That is where they go!
Where do all the babies go?
 I know, I know!
 In the glancing firelight warm,
 Safely sheltered from all harm,
 Soft they lie on mother's arm,
 That is where they go!

Unknown.

The Sweetest Place

A meadow for the little lambs;
 A honey hive for bees;
 And pretty nests for singing birds
 Among the leafy trees.
 There's rest for all the little ones
 In one place or another;
 But who has half so sweet a place
 As baby with her mother?
The little chickens cuddle close,
 Beneath the old hen's wing;
 "Peep! Peep!" they say; "we're not afraid
 Of dark or any thing."
 So, safe and sound, they nestle there,
 The one beside the other;
 But safer, happier, by far,
 Is baby with her mother.

Mary F. Butts.

Good-Night

Little baby, lay your head
 On your pretty cradle-bed;
 Shut your eye-peeps, now the day
 And the light are gone away;
 All the clothes are tucked in tight;
 Little baby dear, good-night.
Yes, my darling, well I know
 How the bitter wind doth blow;
 And the winter's snow and rain
 Patter on the window-pane:
 But they cannot come in here,
 To my little baby dear;
For the window shutteth fast,
 Till the stormy night is past;
 And the curtains warm are spread
 Round about her cradle-bed:
 So till morning shineth bright,
 Little baby dear, good-night.

Jane Taylor.

Nursery Song

As I walked over the hill one day,
 I listened, and heard a mother-sheep say,
 "In all the green world there is nothing so sweet
 As my little lamb, with his nimble feet;
 With his eye so bright,
 And his wool so white,
 Oh, he is my darling, my heart's delight!"
 And the mother-sheep and her little one
 Side by side lay down in the sun;
 And they went to sleep on the hill-side warm,
 While my little lammie lies here on my arm.
I went to the kitchen, and what did I see
 But the old gray cat with her kittens three!
 I heard her whispering soft: said she,
 "My kittens, with tails so cunningly curled,
 Are the prettiest things that can be in the world.
 The bird on the tree,
 And the old ewe she,
 May love their babies exceedingly;
 But I love my kittens there,
 Under the rocking-chair.
 I love my kittens with all my might,
 I love them at morning, noon, and night.
 Now I'll take up my kitties, the kitties I love,
 And we'll lie down together beneath the warm stove."
 Let the kittens sleep under the stove so warm,
 While my little darling lies here on my arm.
I went to the yard, and I saw the old hen
 Go clucking about with her chickens ten;
 She clucked and she scratched and she bustled away,
 And what do you think I heard the hen say?
 I heard her say, "The sun never did shine
 On anything like to these chickens of mine.
 You may hunt the full moon and the stars, if you please,
 But you never will find ten such chickens as these.
 My dear, downy darlings, my sweet little things,
 Come, nestle now cozily under my wings."
 So the hen said,
 And the chickens all sped
 As fast as they could to their nice feather bed.
 And there let them sleep, in their feathers so warm,
 While my little chick lies here on my arm.

Mrs. Carter.

How They Sleep

Some things go to sleep in such a funny way:
 Little birds stand on one leg and tuck their heads away;
Chickens do the same, standing on their perch;
 Little mice lie soft and still as if they were in church;
Kittens curl up close in such a funny ball;
 Horses hang their sleepy heads and stand still in a stall;
Sometimes dogs stretch out, or curl up in a heap;
 Cows lie down upon their sides when they would go to sleep.
But little babies dear are snugly tucked in beds,
 Warm with blankets, all so soft, and pillows for their heads.
Bird and beast and babe—I wonder which of all
 Dream the dearest dreams that down from dreamland fall!

Unknown.

Baby-Land

Which is the way to Baby-Land?
 Any one can tell;
 Up one flight,
 To your right;
 Please to ring the bell.
What can you see in Baby-Land?
 Little folks in white,
 Downy heads,
 Cradle-beds,
 Faces pure and bright.
What do they do in Baby-Land?
 Dream and wake and play,
 Laugh and crow,
 Shout and grow,
 Jolly times have they.
What do they say in Baby-Land?
 Why, the oddest things;
 Might as well
 Try to tell
 What a birdie sings.
Who is the queen of Baby-Land?
 Mother kind and sweet;
 And her love,
 Born above,
 Guides the little feet.

George Cooper.

Lullaby

Baby wants a lullaby;
 Where should mother find it?
 In a bird's nest rocked on high;
 Birdie, birdie lined it;
 Find it under birdie's wing,—
 Soft birdie's feather;—
 O the downy, downy thing!
 O the summer weather!
Baby wants a lullaby;
 Where shall sister find it?
 In a soft cloud of the sky,
 With white wool behind it;
 Watch you may, but cannot guess
 If the cloud has motion,
 Such a perfect calm there is
 In the airy ocean.
O the land of Lullabies!
 Where shall father find it?
 Safe in mother's breast it lies,
 With her arms to bind it;
 O a soft and sleepy song!
 Sleep, baby blossom!
 Sleep is short, sleep is long,
 Sweet is mother's bosom!

William Brighty Rands.

A Cradle Song

What does little birdie say
 In her nest at peep of day?
 Let me fly, says little birdie,
 Mother, let me fly away.
 Birdie, rest a little longer,
 Till the little wings are stronger.
 So she rests a little longer,
 Then she flies away.
What does little baby say,
 In her bed at peep of day?
 Baby says, like little birdie,
 Let me rise and fly away.
 Baby, sleep a little longer,
 Till the little limbs are stronger.
 If she sleeps a little longer,
 Baby too shall fly away.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

Good-night Prayer for a Little Child

Father, unto Thee I pray,
 Thou hast guarded me all day;
 Safe I am while in Thy sight,
 Safely let me sleep to-night.
Bless my friends, the whole world bless,
 Help me to learn helpfulness;
 Keep me ever in Thy sight:
 So to all I say Good-night.

Henry Johnstone.

The Sleepy Song[10]

As soon as the fire burns red and low
 And the house upstairs is still,
 She sings me a queer little sleepy song,
 Of sheep that go over the hill.
The good little sheep run quick and soft,
 Their colors are gray and white;
 They follow their leader nose and tail,
 For they must be home by night.
And one slips over, and one comes next,
 And one runs after behind;
 The gray one's nose at the white one's tail,
 The top of the hill they find.
And when they get to the top of the hill
 They quietly slip away,
 But one runs over and one comes next—
 Their colors are white and gray.
And over they go, and over they go,
 And over the top of the hill
 The good little sheep run quick and soft,
 And the house upstairs is still.
And one slips over and one comes next,
 The good little, gray little sheep!
 I watch how the fire burns red and low,
 And she says that I fall asleep.

Josephine Daskam Bacon.

[10] From "Poems," copyright, 1903, by Chas. Scribner's Sons.

Minnie and Winnie

Minnie and Winnie
 Slept in a shell.
 Sleep, little ladies!
 And they slept well.
Pink was the shell within,
 Silver without;
 Sounds of the great sea
 Wandered about.
Sleep, little ladies!
 Wake not soon!
 Echo on echo
 Dies to the moon.
Two bright stars
 Peeped into the shell.
 "What are they dreaming of?
 Who can tell?"
Started a green linnet
 Out of the croft;
 Wake, little ladies!
 The sun is aloft.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

Queen Mab

A little fairy comes at night;
 Her eyes are blue, her hair is brown,
 With silver spots upon her wings,
 And from the moon she flutters down.
She has a little silver wand,
 And when a good child goes to bed,
 She weaves her wand from right to left,
 And makes a circle round its head.
And then it dreams of pleasant things—
 Of fountains filled with fairy fish,
 And trees that bear delicious fruit,
 And bow their branches at a wish;
Of arbors filled with dainty scents
 From lovely flowers that never fade,
 Bright flies that glitter in the sun,
 And glow-worms shining in the shade;
And talking birds with gifted tongues
 For singing songs and telling tales,
 And pretty dwarfs to show the way
 Through fairy hills and fairy dales.

Thomas Hood.

A Boy's Mother[11]

My mother she's so good to me,
 Ef I was good as I could be,
 I couldn't be as good—no, sir!—
 Can't any boy be good as her.
She loves me when I'm glad er sad;
 She loves me when I'm good er bad;
 An', what's a funniest thing, she says
 She loves me when she punishes.
I don't like her to punish me,—
 That don't hurt,—but it hurts to see
 Her cryin'.—Nen I cry; an' nen
 We both cry an' be good again.
She loves me when she cuts an' sews
 My little cloak an' Sund'y clothes;
 An' when my Pa comes home to tea,
 She loves him most as much as me.
She laughs an' tells him all I said,
 An' grabs me up an' pats my head;
 An' I hug her, an' hug my Pa,
 An' love him purt' nigh much as Ma.

James Whitcomb Riley.

[11] From "Rhymes of Childhood," copyright, 1905, and by special permission of the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company.

Our Mother

Hundreds of stars in the pretty sky,
 Hundreds of shells on the shore together,
 Hundreds of birds that go singing by,
 Hundreds of birds in the sunny weather,
Hundreds of dewdrops to greet the dawn,
 Hundreds of bees in the purple clover,
 Hundreds of butterflies on the lawn,
 But only one mother the wide world over.

Unknown.

Said I to myself, here's a chance for me,
 The Lilliput Laureate for to be!
 And these are the Specimens I sent in
 To Pinafore Palace. Shall I win?

William Brighty Rands.

INDEX