A Fisherman’s Baby

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Oh hush, little baby, thy papa’s at sea;
The big billows rock him as mamma rocks thee.
He hastes to his dear ones o’er billows of foam;
Then sleep, little darling, till papa comes home.
Sleep, little baby; hush, little baby;
Papa is coming, no longer to roam.

The shells and the pebbles, all day tossed about,
Are lulled into sleep by the tide ebbing out.
The tired shore slumbers, stretched out in the sand,
While the waves hurry off at mid-ocean’s command.
Then hush, little darling; sleep, little darling;
Sleep, baby, rocked by thy mother’s own hand.

The winds that have rollicked all day in the west
Are hushed into sleep on the calm evening’s breast.
The boats that were out with the wild sea at play
Are now rocked to sleep in the arms of the bay.
Then rest, little baby; sleep, little baby;
Papa will come at the break of the day.

Sleep, little darling; too soon thou wilt be
A man like thy father, to sail o’er the sea.
Then sleep will not come at thy bidding or prayer,
For thou wilt be harassed by danger and care.
Then sleep, little darling; rest, little baby;
Rest whilst thou may, dear, and sleep whilst thou dare.

Sweet Baby

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Baby, sweet baby, with tears in your eyes
Rest your head gently, there’s no need to cry,
Come let me sing you a soft lullaby
The sandman is coming and dreamland is nigh;

Baby, sweet baby, with skin soft and fair
And little pink ribbons done up in your hair,
In your tiny world there should not be a care
May angels surround you and send you a prayer;

Baby, sweet baby, your cute button nose
Your soft tiny fingers and sweet baby toes
Have truly bewitched me and nobody knows
How the depth of my love for you just grows and grows;

So precious and tender your love is to me,
Until I first held you, I never could see
How wonderfully magical my life could be –
You’ve opened my heart and my spirit is free!

For my sweet little angel Shelby Lynn

Someone Ate The Baby

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Someone ate the baby it’s rather sad to say
Someone ate the baby so she won’t be out to play
We’ll never hear her whiney cry or have to feel if she is dry
We’ll never hear her asking why why why someone ate the baby
Someone ate the baby it’s absolutely clear
Someone ate the baby cause the baby isn’t here
We’ll give away her toys and clothes we’ll never have to wipe her nose
Dad says that’s the way it goes someone ate the baby
Someone ate the baby what a frightful thing to eat
Someone ate the baby though she wasn’t very sweet
It was a heartless thing to do the policemen haven’t got a clue
I simply can’t imagine who would go and (burp) eat the baby

The Baby’s Dance

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Dance little baby, dance up high,
Never mind baby, mother is by;
Crow and caper, caper and crow,
There little baby, there you go;
Up to the ceiling, down to the ground,
Backwards and forwards, round and round;
Dance little baby, and mother shall sing,
With the merry coral, ding, ding, ding.

A Bunch Of Roses

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The rosy mouth and rosy toe
Of little baby brother
Until about a month ago
Had never met each other;
But nowadays the neighbours sweet,
In every sort of weather,
Half way with rosy fingers meet,
To kiss and play together.

Lullaby Of An Infant Chief

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hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight,
Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright;
The woods and the glens, from the towers which we see,
They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee.
O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo,
O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo.

O fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows,
It calls but the warders that guard thy repose;
Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red,
Ere the step of a foeman drew near to thy bed.
O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo,
O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo.

O hush thee, my babie, the time soon will come
When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum;
Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may,
For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day.
O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo,
O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo.

Baby Sitter

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From torrid heat to frigid cold
I’ve rovered land and sea;
And now, with halting heart I hold
My grandchild on my knee:
Yet while I’ve eighty years all told,
Of moons she has but three.

She sleeps, that fragile miniature
Of future maidenhood;
She will be wonderful, I’m sure,
As over her I brood;
She is so innocent, so pure,
I know she will be good.

My way I’ve won from woe to weal,
And hard has been the fight;
Yet in my ingle-nook I feel
A wondrous peace to-night;
And over me serenely steal
Warm waves of love and light.

“What sloppy stuff!” I hear you say.
“Give us a lusty song.”
Alas! I’m bent and gnarled and grey,–
My life may not be long:
Yet let its crown of glory be
This child upon me knee.

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