Oh! hush little baby, thy Papa's at sea,
The big billows rock him as Mama rocks thee.
He hastes to his dear ones o'er breakers of foam.
Then hush little darling till Papa comes home.
Sleep little baby, hush little baby,
Papa is coming, no longer to roam.
The shells and the pebbles all day tossed about
Are lulled into sleep by the tide ebbing out.
The weary shore slumbers, stretched out in the sand,
While the waves hurry off at mid ocean's command.
Then hush little baby, sleep little darling,
Sleep baby, rocked by thy mother's own hand.
The winds that have rollicked all day in the west
Are soothed into sleep on the calm evening's breast.
The boats that were out with the wild sea at play
Are now rocked to sleep in the arms of the bay.
Then rest little baby, sleep little baby,
Papa will come at the break of the day.
Yesterdays. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
London: Gay & Hancock, 1916.
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