Roses all, and lilies,
Every path enfold;
Lakes in shadow sleeping,
Silver fishes leaping,
And the waters creeping,
Through the reeds of gold.

Slumber on, sweet infant.
Slumber peacefully;
Thy young soul yet knows not
What thy lot may be.
Like dead leaves that sweep
Down the stormy deep,
Thou art borne in sleep,
What is all to thee?

Thou canst slumber by the way;
Thou hast learnt to borrow
Naught from study, naught from care;
The cold hand of sorrow,
On thy brow unwrinkled yet,
Where young truth and candour sit,
Ne'er with rugged nail hath writ
That sad word, "To-morrow."

Innocent, thou sleepest--
See the heavenly band.
Who foreknow the trials
That for man are planned;
Seeing him unarmed,