Sleep, dear child, as mother bids:
If thou sleep thou shalt not die!
Sleep, and death shall pass thee by.
Close worn eyes and aching lids,
Yield to soft forgetfulness;
Let sweet sleep thy senses press:
Child, on whom my love doth dwell,
Sleep, sleep, and thou shalt be well.
See, I strew thee, soft and light,
Bed of down that cannot pain;