Father's Lullaby

Ah! If only could I grow not,
For have now I been torn from my lot.
And here is the collapsing clarity,
that the number of my own may I see.


Ah! If only could I stay being infant,
For the toils of youth am I reluctant.
As we raise, so everyone slays,
that is no more peaceful sleep in a day.


verily I miss the lullaby,
whispered by the angels in the sky,
that deliver a baby to a slumber
that I wish it for ever.


Hush now, my son.
Rest before the day of grief is done.
Lay your head on my arm,
that no single sound shall harm.


Sleep now, my child.
Sleep as the air is still mild.
The moon shall watch you through the night,
and I pray may tomorrow show you a hopeful daylight.