Sleep, little babe in your crib so white,
Like the first thin snow on the fields outside!
Mother is near, through the long dark night,
(Oh love of my love, be still!)
And her heart all your tears and your grief would hide.
So sleep, while over the fields and the town,
Over the streets and the stubble brown,
The breeze will whisper it’s wafted air,—
“Oh babe so tender, babe so rare, Goodnight!”
Far overhead, through the frost-clear sky
The wild geese wing to the South again;
Rustling and shivering leaves hang dry
(Oh heart of my heart, lie still!)
On the vines that are brushing against the pane
But sleep, for after the snow comes spring;
And after the night the dawning will bring
A breeze to whisper you, sweet and sure,
“Oh babe so tender, babe so pure, Good-Day!
The Autumn Night, By H. J. O’Brien, appeared in
The Mother’s Magazine, September 1911