Lullaby, lullaby!
The old ones found them safe, poor trembling things;
They smoothed and fed them, and that very day
They taught them how to spread their little wings,
And 'mong the garden trees to soar away.
Lullaby, lullaby?
* * * * *
SNOW.
The snow, the snow is coming,
So graceful and light,
All over every thing,
Beautiful and white.
A thousand, thousand snow-flakes,
They're swimming in the air;
They fall upon the cherry-trees,
And hang like blossoms there.
They are coming, coming, coming,
As far as I can see;
They 'light, like little fairy birds,
Upon the old oak tree.
Each flake of snow is pretty--
A spangle or a gem;
But they melt away in dew-drops--
I can not treasure them.
They melt beneath the sunbeam,
They sink into the ground,
And where they vanish, by-and-by,
Sweet flowers will be found,
And I am told they moisten
And make the flowrets grow;
So, welcome, very welcome,
Are the gentle flakes of snow.
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