Have taken the blue o' the heavens an' the grace o' the bending rye. My love has robbed the summer day--the field, the sky, the dell, She has carried their treasurers with her, she has taken my heart as well; An' if ever, in the further fields, her feet should go astray May she hear the good God calling her: "Co' day! Co' day! Co' day!" THE WEAVER'S DYE There's many a hue an' some I knew in the skeins of a weaver old-- Ah, there is the white o' the lily hand an' the glow o' the silky gold! An' the crimson missed in the lips we kissed an' the blue o' the maiden's eye; O, look at the wonderful web of life, an' look at the weaver's dye! THE SLUMBER SHIP A LULLABY Jack Tot is as big as a baby's thumb, And his dinner is only a drop and a crumb And a wee little sailor is he. Heigh ho! A very fine sailor is he. He made his boat of a walnut shell; He sails her at night, and he steers her well With the wing of a bumblebee. Heigh ho! The wing of a bumblebee. She is rigged with the hair of a lady's curl, And her lantern is made of a gleaming pearl, And it never goes out in a gale. Heigh ho! It never goes out in a gale. Her mast is made of a very long thorn; She's a bell for the fog, and a cricket's horn, And a spider spun her sail. Heigh ho! A spider he spun her sail. She carries a cargo of baby souls, And she crosses the terrible Nightmare Shoals, On her way to the Isles of Rest. Heigh ho! The beautiful Isles of Rest. The Slumber Sea is the sea she sails, While the skipper is telling incredible tales With many a merry jest. Ho! ho! He's fond of a merry jest. When the little folks yawn they're ready to go, And the skipper is lifting his sail--he ho! In the swell how the little folks nod! Ha! ha! Just see how the little folks nod! He fluttered his wing as they ast him to sing an' he tried fer t' clear out his throat; He hemmed an' he hawed an' he hawked an' he cawed But he couldn' deliver a note. The swallow was there an' he ushered each pair in his linsey an' claw-hammer coat. The bobolink tried fer t' flirt with the bride, in a way that was sassy an' bold, An' the notes that he took as he shivered an' shook Had a sound like the jingle o' gold. He sat on a brier an' laughed at the choir an' told 'em the music was old. The sexton he came--Mr. Spider by name--a citizen hairy an' gray. His rope in a steeple, he called the good people That live in the land o' the hay. The ants an' the squgs an' the crickets an' bugs came out in a mighty array. A number came down from ole Barleytown an' the neighborin' city o' Rye.