Come, rain, come,
That the water may run,
That the meadow grass may grow;
That the fruit and grain
O'er hill and plain,
May greet us as we go.
Come, rain, come,
That the water may run,
That the mill may make our meal;--
'Twill grind our wheat,
And corn so sweet,
When it turns the old mill-wheel.
FEED THE BIRDIES.
Feed the birdies, darling,
When the snow is here,
When there are no berries
On the bushes, dear;--
Scatter food out for them,
And they'll quickly come,
Hopping, singing, chirping
"Thank you for the crumb."
ROCK-A-BYE.
Rock-a-bye, baby,
Our darling is ill,
Rock-a-bye, baby,
We'll soon have him well;--
Rock-a-bye, baby,
Don't tremble with fear,
For that tends to make
His slight illness severe.
Rock-a-bye, baby,
Our darling is ill.
Rock-a-bye, baby,
We'll soon have him well;--
Rock-a-bye, baby.
Don't coax him to nurse,
For urging to eat
Only makes matters worse. [{43}]
Rock-a-bye, baby,
Our darling is ill,
Rock-a-bye, baby,
We'll soon have him well;--
Rock-a-bye, baby,
No company 'round,
Not even the dear ones,
To make a loud sound.