LADY DAY IN HARVEST A LULLABY FOR THE FALLING ASLEEP OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY

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MARY sleeps—and as she sleeps the

angels sing:

Sleep, sleep, sweetly sleep,

Sweetly sleep, sleep, sleep,

You who rocked the cradle—so—

In the stable long ago.

Golden Rose of David’s stem,

Sleep, and dream of Bethlehem;

Dream of herald angels singing,

Dream of Christmas bells a-ringing

In the steeples of the town,

Telling of the Christ come down

To a stable long ago;

Dream in harvest of the snow;

Dream His head is on your breast,

Then, smiling, sleep and take your rest—

Golden Rose of David’s stem,

Sleep and dream of Bethlehem.

28MARY sleeps—and as she sleeps her

Son sings:

Sleep, sleep, sweetly sleep,

Sweetly sleep, sleep, sleep:

You rocked the cradle once for Me,

Mother of sweet liberty;

And now I sing your lullaby,

While angels watch us from the sky,

And the August stars are bright

In the dark, hop-scented night.

Rest, darling mother, rest

With your head upon My breast,

For all the hundred happy hours

That My head has lain on yours.

Mother whose hair is grey with love,

With memories of Calvary’s day....

Darling, in the fields above

The young angels wait to play,

And all the holy innocents,

Who once laid down their lives for Me,

Will climb into your lap and lie

Where once I lay so lovingly.

Rest, darling mother, rest

With your head upon My breast.

MARY sleeps—and as she sleeps we

all sing:

Sleep, sleep, mother, sleep,

Sweetly sleep, sleep, sleep;

29On His bosom lay your head,

While the angels watch your bed,

And the August stars are red—

Little mother of joy divine,

Little mother of purity,

Sweet mother of eternity—

(You our mother and He our Brother);

So shall heaven’s windows shine

With lights of home, burning softly down,

On your children on their way

To your door—until the day

When we reach our native town:

And our hands shall knock, and yours unlatch,

And we shall come home to you under the thatch—

To you our mother, to Him our Brother,

So shall we love you and Him and each other.

Little mother of joy divine,

From your window in heaven look down,

And light the way to our native town.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.

Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed.