WHIP-POOR-WILL’S SONG. A BALLAD. _Composed by H. Millard._ Oh, meet me when daylight is fading, And is darkening into the night, When song-birds are singing their vespers, And the day has far vanished from sight; And then I will tell you, darling, All the love I have cherished so long, If you will but meet me at evening, When you hear the first whip-poor-will’s song. CHORUS. Oh meet me, oh meet me, When you hear the first whip-poor-will’s song. ’Tis said that, whatever sweet feelings May be throbbing within a fond heart, When listening to whip-poor-will’s singing, For a twelvemonth will never depart; So then we will meet in the woodland, Far away from the hurrying throng, And whisper our love to each other, When we hear the first whip-poor-will’s song. _Whip-poor-will, &c._ And in the long years of the future, Though our duties may part us awhile, And on the return of this evening, We be severed by many a mile; Yet deep in our bosoms we’ll cherish The affection, so fervent and strong, We pledged to each other this evening, When we heard the first whip-poor-will’s song. _Whip-poor-will, &c._ “There are a lot of people in England, as elsewhere, always ready to strain at the smallest gnat and swallow the biggest camel, who will doubtless put this young lady down as outside the pale of ordinary humanity; if this prejudice should carry any so far as to lead them to avoid her, they alone will be the losers.”--_Liverpool Leader._ “This wonderful exhibition is of the most chaste character, and we can safely recommend it to fathers, mothers, sons and daughters.”--_Boston Transcript._ PUT ME IN MY LITTLE BED. _Words by Dexter Smith. Music by C. A. White._ Oh, birdie, I am tired now; I do not care to hear you sing; You’ve sung your happy songs all day, Now put your head beneath your wing. I’m sleepy, too, as I can be; And, sister, when my prayer is said I want to lay me down to rest, So put me in my little bed. CHORUS. Come, sister, come, Kiss me good-night, For I my evening prayer have said, I’m tired now, and sleepy too, Come put me in my little bed. Oh, sister, what did mother say When she was called to heaven away? She told me always to be good, And never, never go astray; I can’t forget the day she died, She placed her hand upon my head, She whispered softly, “Keep my child,” And then they told me she was dead. Come, sister, come, &c.