The sun doth on the mountains sleep, the partridge on
the downs,
The goose upon the shore, the child here in his cradle-
bed.
Come, Sleep, come rock it gently,
Till slumb’ring sweet it lies;
Come, Sleep, great Sleep and mighty,
That closest childrens’ eyes. |
Come, Sleep, come take it from me,
Hence to the gardens bear,
And fill its lap with roses
Full thirty-leaved and fair.
O Sleep, then take it from me ;
Yet bring it back once more, |
Lest its dear father, coming,
Should miss his baby sore.

(By kind permission of Dr. A. N. Jannaris.)

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