THISTLE-DOWN

THE thistle-down floats on the air, the air,
Whenever the soft wind blows,
And the wind can tell just where, just where
The feathery thistle-down goes.
And it tells the bird in a single word,
Who whispers it low to the bee;
And they try to keep the mystery deep,
And none of them tell it to me.
But I know well, though they never will tell,
Where the thistle-down goes when it says "Farewell,"
It floats and floats away on the air,
And goes where the wind goes—everywhere!

SLUMBER SONG

GENTLY fall the shadows gray,
Daylight softly veiling;
Now to Dreamland we'll away,
Sailing, sailing, sailing.
Little eyes were made for sleeping,
Little heads were made for rest,
Golden locks were made for keeping
Close to mother's breast;
Little hands were made for folding,
Little lips should never sigh;
What dear mother's arms are holding,
Love alone can buy.
Gently fall the shadows gray,
Daylight softly veiling;
Now to Dreamland we'll away,
Sailing, sailing, sailing.