Gabriel, when that hush may be, This sweet hand all heedfully I'll undo for thee alone, From his mother's own. Then the far blue highway paven With the burning stars of heaven, He shall gladden with the sweet Hasting of his feet: -- Feet so brightly bare and cool, Leaping, as from pool to pool; From a little laughing boy Splashing rainbow joy! Gabriel, wilt thou understand How to keep this hovering hand? -- Never shut, as in a bond, From the bright beyond? -- Nay, but though it cling and close Tightly as a climbing rose, Clasp it only so, -- aright, Lest his heart take fright. (~Dormi, dormi, tu. The dusk is hung with blue.~) II Lord Michael, wilt not thou rejoice When at last a little boy's Heart, a shut-in murmuring bee, Turns him unto thee? Wilt thou heed thine armor well, -- To take his hand from Gabriel, So his radiant cup of dream May not spill a gleam? He will take thy heart in thrall, Telling o'er thy breastplate, all Colors, in his bubbling speech, With his hand to each. (~Dormi, dormi, tu. Sapphire is the blue, Pearl and beryl, they are called, Crysoprase and emerald, Sard and amethyst Numbered so, and kissed.~) Ah, but find some angel-word For thy sharp, subduing sword! Yea, Lord Michael, make no doubt He will find it out: (~Dormi, dormi, tu! His eyes will look at you.~) III Last, a little morning space, Lead him to that leafy place Where Our Lady sits awake, For all mothers' sake. Bosomed with the Blessed One, He shall mind her of her Son, Once so folded from all harms In her shrining arms. (~In her veil of blue, Dormi, dormi, tu.~) So; -- and fare thee well. Softly, -- Gabriel . . . When the first faint red shall come, Bid the Day-star lead him home, For the bright world's sake, To my heart, awake. Slumber Song. [Louis V. Ledoux] Drowsily come the sheep From the place where the pastures be, By a dusty lane To the fold again, First one, and then two, and three: First one, then two, by the paths of sleep Drowsily come the sheep. Drowsily come the sheep, And the shepherd is singing low: After eight comes nine In the endless line, They come, and then in they go. First eight, then nine, by the paths of sleep Drowsily come the sheep. Drowsily come the sheep And they pass through the sheepfold door; After one comes two, After one comes two, Comes two and then three and four. First one, then two, by the paths of sleep, Drowsily come the sheep. Ballad of a Child. [John G. Neihardt] Yearly thrilled the plum tree With the mother-mood; Every June the rose stock Bore her wonder-child: Every year the wheatlands Reared a golden brood: World of praying Rachaels, Heard and reconciled!