Come, rain, come, That the water may run, That the mill may make our meal;-- 'Twill grind our wheat, And corn so sweet, When it turns the old mill-wheel. {41} _FEED THE BIRDIES_. Feed the birdies, darling, When the snow is here, When there are no berries On the bushes, dear;-- Scatter food out for them, And they'll quickly come, Hopping, singing, chirping "Thank you for the crumb." {42} _ROCK-A-BYE_. Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling is ill, Rock-a-bye, baby, We'll soon have him well;-- Rock-a-bye, baby, Don't tremble with fear, For that tends to make His slight illness severe. Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling is ill. Rock-a-bye, baby, We'll soon have him well;-- Rock-a-bye, baby. Don't coax him to nurse, For urging to eat Only makes matters worse. {43} Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling is ill, Rock-a-bye, baby, We'll soon have him well;-- Rock-a-bye, baby, No company 'round, Not even the dear ones, To make a loud sound. Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling is ill, Rock-a-bye, baby, We'll soon have him well;-- Rock-a-bye, baby, Don't rattle the papers Nor whisper around, Little nerves cut such capers. {44} Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling is ill, Rock-a-bye, baby We'll soon have him well;-- Rock-a-bye, baby, Whatever is wrong, Attend to his bowels, Neglected too long, Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling is ill, Rock-a-bye, baby, We'll soon have him well;-- Rock-a-bye, baby, If he is too hot, Undress him and bathe him; But, ah! he is not. Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling is ill, Rock-a-bye, baby, We'll soon have him well;-- Rock-a-bye, baby, There is cough with unrest, So we'll wring out hot flannels, And cover his chest, {45} Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling is ill; Rock-a-bye, baby, We'll soon have him well;-- Rock-a-bye, baby, He's perspiring, to pour! We will keep up this treatment A full hour more. Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling is ill, Rock-a-bye, baby, We'll soon have him well;-- Rock-a-bye, baby, Now dry him off neat, And wrap him up warm, And to-morrow, repeat. {46} Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling is ill, Rock-a-bye, baby, We'll soon have him well;-- Rock-a-bye, baby, 'Tis not in his chest? Then place the hot flannels Where he feels the unrest. Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling is ill, Rock-a-bye, baby, We'll soon have him well;-- Rock-a-bye, baby, He is moaning with pain, And rolling his head, And we pet him in vain. Rock-a-bye, baby, Our darling is ill; Rock-a-bye, baby, We'll soon have him well;-- Rock-a-bye, baby, We will wring out from ice, Linen cloths for his head, All so cooling and nice. {47}