My youthful son--somewhere beneath strange ebon skies
Dreaming of home and cricket lullabies--
Shine softly.
Blow gently, winds, and give him my embrace,
And let your cooling breath caress his boyish face
As he lies sleeping in some alien place--
Blow gently.
Step lightly, night, and mute the strange alarms
Of war, lest he be wakened rudely from the charms
Of dreams. O, hold him close within your arms--
Step lightly.
Walk softly, angels, pause beside his bed;
Placing your hands in tenderness upon his head,
Smooth his dark hair, and kiss him in my stead--
Walk softly.
