And laid to sleep in the ocean deep,
Under silvery folds of mist.
But the moon-baby first must slumber,
For he is their proud young king;
So, hand in hand, round his bed they stand,
And lullabies low they sing.
And the beautiful golden cradle
Is rocked by the winds that stray,
With pinions soft, from the halls aloft,
Where the moon-baby lives to-day.