Nursing
O hush, my little baby brother;
Sleep, my love, upon my knee.
What though, dear child, we’ve lost our mother;
That can never trouble thee.
You are but ten weeks old to—morrow;
What can you know of our loss?
The house is full enough of sorrow.
Little baby, don’t be cross.
Peace, cry not so, my dearest love;
Hush, my baby—bird, lie still.—
He’s quiet now, he does not move,
Fast asleep is little Will.
My only solace, only joy,
Since the sad day I lost my mother,
Is nursing her own Willy boy,
My little orphan brother.
