Ir wishes were horses,
Beggars would ride;
If turnips were watches,

I'd wear one by my side.

FOR want of a nail, the shoe was lost;
For want of the shoe, the horse was lost;
For want of the horse, the rider was lost;
For want of the rider, the battle was lost
For want of the battle, the kingdom was lost;
And all from the want of a horseshoe nail.

MARCH winds and April showers
Bring forth May flowers.

EVENING red and morning gray
Set the traveller on his way,
But evening gray and morning red,
Bring the rain upon his head.

RAINBOW at night

Is the sailor's delight;

Rainbow at morning,

Sailors, take warning.

OLD SUPERSTITIONS

CUT your nails on Monday, cut them for news;
Cut them on Tuesday, a pair of new shoes;
Cut them on Wednesday, cut them for health;
Cut them on Thursday, cut them for wealth;
Cut them on Friday, cut them for woe;
Cut them on Saturday, a journey you'll go;
Cut them on Sunday, you'll cut them for evil,
For all the next week you'll be ruled by the devil.

MARRY Monday, marry for wealth;

Marry Tuesday, marry for health;

Marry Wednesday, the best day of all;

Marry Thursday, marry for crosses,

Marry Friday, marry for losses,

Marry Saturday, no luck at all.

Old Superstitions

SNEEZE on a Monday, you sneeze for danger;
Sneeze on a Tuesday, you'll kiss a stranger;
Sneeze on a Wednesday, you sneeze for a letter;
Sneeze on a Thursday, for something better;
Sneeze on a Friday, you sneeze for sorrow;
Sneeze on a Saturday, your sweetheart to-morrow;
Sneeze on a Sunday, your safety seek—
The devil will have you the whole of the week.

MONDAY'S child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go,
Friday's child is loving and giving,

Saturday's child works hard for its living,
And a child that's born on the Sabbath day
Is fair and wise and good and gay.

63

THE ROAD TO SLUMBERLAND

WYNKEN, BLYNKEN, AND NOD

DUTCH LULLABY

WYNKEN, Blynken, and Nod one night

Sailed off in a wooden shoe,—

Sailed on a river of crystal light

Into a sea of dew.

"Where are you going, and what do you wish?”

The old moon asked the three.

"We have come to fish for the herring fish
That live in this beautiful sea;

Nets of silver and gold have we!"
Said Wynken,

Blynken,

And Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song,

As they rocked in the wooden shoe;
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled the waves of dew.

The little stars were the herring fish

That lived in that beautiful sea

"Now cast your nets wherever you wish,—
Never afeard are we!"

So cried the stars to the fishermen three,
Wynken,

Blynken,
And Nod.

All night long their nets they threw

To the stars in the twinkling foam,

Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
Bringing the fishermen home:

65

The Road to Slumberland

'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed

As if it could not be;

And some folk thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed

Of sailing that beautiful sea;

But I shall name you the fishermen three:

Wynken,

Blynken,

And Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,

And Nod is a little head,

And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
Is a wee one's trundle-bed;

So shut your eyes while Mother sings
Of wonderful sights that be,

And

you shall see the beautiful things

As you rock in the misty sea

Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:

Wynken,

Blynken,

And Nod.

Eugene Field [1850-1895]

THE ROAD TO SLUMBERLAND

WHAT is the road to slumber-land and when does the baby go?

The road lies straight through mother's arms when the sun is sinking low.

He goes by the drowsy land of nod to the music of lullaby, When all wee lambs are safe in the fold, under the evening sky.

A soft little nightgown clean and white; a face washed sweet and fair;

A mother brushing the tangles out of the silken, golden hair.

Two little tired, satiny feet, from shoe and stocking free; Two little palms together clasped at the mother's patient knee.

Some baby words that are drowsily lisped to the tender Shepherd's ear;

And a kiss that only a mother can place on the brow of her baby dear.

A little round head that nestles at last close to the mother's breast,

And then the lullaby soft and low, singing the song of rest.

And closer and closer the blue-veined lids are hiding the baby eyes,

As over the road to slumber-land the dear little traveller hies.

For this is the way, through mother's arms, all little babies go

To the beautiful city of slumber-land when the sun is sinking low.

Mary Dow Brine [18

WHEN THE SLEEPY MAN COMES

WHEN the Sleepy Man comes with the dust on his eyes, (Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)

He shuts up the earth, and he opens the skies. (So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)

He smiles through his fingers, and shuts up the sun; (Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)

The stars that he loves he lets out one by one. (So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)

He comes from the castles of Drowsy-boy Town; (Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)

At the touch of his hand the tired eyelids fall down. (So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)

He comes with a murmur of dream in his wings; (Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)

And whispers of mermaids and wonderful things. ' (So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)