The stars are twinkling in the skies,
The earth is lost in slumbers deep;
So hush, my sweet, and close thine eyes,
And let me lull thy soul to sleep.
Compose thy dimpled hands to rest,
And like a little birdling lie
Secure within thy cozy nest
Upon my loving mother breast,
And slumber to my lullaby,
So hushaby–O hushaby.
The moon is singing to a star
The little song I sing to you;
The father sun has strayed afar,
As baby’s sire is straying too.
And so the loving mother moon
Sings to the little star on high;
And as she sings, her gentle tune
Is borne to me, and thus I croon
For thee, my sweet, that lullaby
Of hushaby–O hushaby.
There is a little one asleep
That does not hear his mother’s song;
But angel watchers–as I weep–
Surround his grave the night-tide long.
And as I sing, my sweet, to you,
Oh, would the lullaby I sing–
The same sweet lullaby he knew
While slumb’ring on this bosom too–
Were borne to him on angel’s wing!
So hushaby–O hushaby.
(Eugene Field)
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