Lightly tread who come to peep
At the little maiden's sleep.
Let your steps the carpet cross,
Soft as sunshine over moss,
Lest her dream should suffer loss.

Hushed the baby lies, so late
Entered through the crystal gate
That a calm and holy grace,
Borrowed from some blessèd place,
Shineth still within her face.

Lashes laid in slumber meek,
Fringe with gold a tender cheek
Tinted like the dewy sprays
Of the blossomed peach, whose praise
Floods the robin's roundelays.

And as if a white-rose tree
Dropped its daintiest petal, see
How the dimpled hand gleams fair
Through the ripples of her hair,
Clasped by angels unaware.

Who shall sing her cradle-song?
Silver streams would do her wrong;
Whispering leaves are over rude,
And the twitter in the wood
From the linnet's nestling brood.

Flowers we shed, in lieu of speech,
With a blessing shut in each,
Culled at dawn from emerald dells,
Where the wild bee longest dwells,
Cradled deep in honey bells.

Strew the sweets above her rest,
Only hearts-ease on the breast,
By our potent sylvan art
Charming thus the budding heart
From all thorny sting and smart.

On the blue eyes, curtained fast,
Blue forget me nots we cast.
Mayflowers pink we scatter free
O'er the feet. On hill and lea
Fragrant may their treading be!

Nay; but here there bendeth one
Doth out-bless our benison.
Deepest love is purest prayer,
Mounting high the starry stair
To the Love beyond compare.

See! she stirs. The dimple dips
All about the drowsy lips.
Bonny dreams blue eyes beguile
Not so well but mother's smile
Shall to waking reconcile.