Close her eyes: she must not peep!
Let her little puds go slack;
Slide away far into sleep:
Sis will watch till she comes back!
Mother's knitting at the door, Waiting till the kettle sings; When the kettle's song is o'er She will set the bright tea-things.
Father's busy making hay
In the meadow by the brook, Not so very far away--
Close its peeps, it needn't look!
God is round us everywhere-- Sees the scythe glitter and rip; Watches baby gone somewhere; Sees how mother's fingers skip!
Sleep, dear baby; sleep outright:
Mother's sitting just behind: Father's only out of sight;
God is round us like the wind.