Kneels at his mother’s knee to pray;
Then, like the happy outdoor things,
He, too, must softly close his wings.
HO FOR SLUMBERLAND
When the little ones get drowsy and heavy lids droop down
To hide blue eyes and black eyes, gray eyes and eyes of brown,
A thousand boats for Dreamland are waiting in a row,
And the ferrymen are calling, “For the Slumber Islands, ho!”
Then the sleepy little children fill the boats along the shore,