In the leafy nest Songsters are at rest; All the little ground birds hide ’Neath the grassy curtains wide; In its well-made mossy bed Every squirrel rests its head. Sleep, my little precious bud From the Paradise of God. OUR KITTY Kitty was playing with one little ball, A ball that was hung on a string; Its bright eyes were dancing in merriest glee, Watching how far it would swing. And dear little puss, as quick as a dart, Would dash it, when near her it swung; But kitty could only laugh out of her eyes, For joy that a ball could be strung. O frolicsome kitty! Say, why did you come Where somebody often gets cross? You don’t know what rough words may meet you in life, When there’s not a play-ball to toss! Then Truth answered me in a sweet, loving tone, And said that wee kitty had come To teach little children to ever be kind And tender to pets in the home. The velvet is soft on the small, fragile paws; And if it with gentleness meet, ’Tis seldom that any will know it has claws, Or learn there are pins in its feet. And kitty is come to show us a way To work for a wonderful thing; When lions and lambs together shall play, And all hearts together shall sing! MOTHER’S LULLABY Never fear, darling, nor start at a sound; Mother’s arm foldeth thee tenderly ’round. Mother’s heart beats for thee; rest on it, love; Mother’s voice sings for thee, soft as a dove. Go to sleep, baby, and grow to be strong. Mother will teach thee a beautiful song; Beautiful song that together we’ll sing In the Bright Land, that forever is Spring. O soft, little feet, lie still in the wrap, For ten little toes are needing a nap; One little hand reaches up for a kiss; Baby can’t sleep without mother’s caress! But mother is worn and weary to-night, Go to sleep, baby, till morning is bright. Mother wakes easy; don’t fear if she nod; For nobody loves like mother and God. WINTERGREEN BERRIES ’Twas a cold, rough day As we sped away In the grand old Michigan woods; And the forest flowers, ’Mid the windy hours, Hid back in their wee, warm hoods. But we searched the ground, And the red drops found ’Neath their shining parasols green; Two or three on a stem, Each a round, ruby gem, ’Neath coverts of emerald sheen. O little, bright globes! In your wee, red robes, And hid under sweet, scented leaves, O why do you grow, Hid away till the snow Its great white coverlet weaves? But the berries cried, “We were made to hide, Till the dear, little hands shall come And bear us away For their own sweet play, In the corner of some glad home.” THE CRADLE SONG OF THE ROCKIES