But once--a likely spell ago--when that poor little chick From teething or from some such ill of infancy fell sick, You wouldn't know us people as the same that went about A-feelin' good all over, just to hear him crow and shout; And, though the doctor poohed our fears and said he'd pull him through, Old gran'ma cried, And gran'pa cried, And wife, she cried, And I--yes, I cried, too! It makes us all feel good to have a baby on the place, With his everlastin' crowing and his dimpling, dumpling face; The patter of his pinky feet makes music everywhere, And when he shakes those fists of his, good-by to every care! No matter what our trouble is, when he begins to coo, Old gran'ma laughs, And gran'pa laughs, Wife, she laughs, And I--you bet, I laugh, too! SO, SO, ROCK-A-BY SO! So, so, rock-a-by so! Off to the garden where dreamikins grow; And here is a kiss on your winkyblink eyes, And here is a kiss on your dimpledown cheek And here is a kiss for the treasure that lies In the beautiful garden way up in the skies Which you seek. Now mind these three kisses wherever you go-- So, so, rock-a-by so! There's one little fumfay who lives there, I know, For he dances all night where the dreamikins grow; I send him this kiss on your droopydrop eyes, I send him this kiss on your rosyred cheek. And here is a kiss for the dream that shall rise When the fumfay shall dance in those far-away skies Which you seek. Be sure that you pay those three kisses you owe-- So, so, rock-a-by so! And, by-low, as you rock-a-by go, Don't forget mother who loveth you so! And here is her kiss on your weepydeep eyes, And here is her kiss on your peachypink cheek, And here is her kiss for the dreamland that lies Like a babe on the breast of those far-away skies Which you seek-- The blinkywink garden where dreamikins grow-- So, so, rock-a-by so! THE SONG OF LUDDY-DUD A sunbeam comes a-creeping Into my dear one's nest, And sings to our babe a-sleeping The song that I love the best: "'T is little Luddy-Dud in the morning-- 'T is little Luddy-Dud at night; And all day long 'T is the same sweet song Of that waddling, toddling, coddling little mite, Luddy-Dud." The bird to the tossing clover, The bee to the swaying bud, Keep singing that sweet song over Of wee little Luddy-Dud. "'T is little Luddy-Dud in the morning-- 'T is little Luddy-Dud at night; And all day long 'T is the same dear song Of that growing, crowing, knowing little sprite, Luddy-Dud."