Oh, the little bird is rocking in the cradle
of the wind,
And it’s bye, my little wee one, bye;
The harvest all is gathered and the pippins all
are binned;
Bye, my little wee one, bye;
The little rabbit’s hiding in the golden shock
of corn,
The thrifty squirrel’s laughing bunny’s idleness
to scorn;
You are smiling with the angels in your slum-
ber, smile till morn;
So it’s bye, my little wee one, bye.

There’ll be plenty in the cellar, there’ll be
plenty on the shelf;
Bye, my little wee one, bye;
There’ll be goodly store of sweetings for a
dainty little elf;
Bye, my little wee one, bye;
The snow may be a-flying o’er the meadow and
the hill,
The ice has checked the chatter of the little
laughing rill,
But in your cosey cradle you are warm and
happy still;
Bye, my little wee one, bye.

Why, the Bob White thinks the snowflake is a
brother to his song;
Bye, my little wee one, bye;
And the chimney sings the sweeter when the
wind is blowing strong;
Bye, my little wee one, bye;
The granary’s overflowing, full is cellar, crib,
and bin,
The wood had paid its tribute and the axe has
ceased its din;
The winter may not harm you when you’re
sheltered safe within;
So bye, my little wee one, bye.

Previous         Next