Sleep baby mine, enkerchieft on my bosom,
Thy cries pierce again my bleeding breast;
Sleep, baby, mine, not long thou'lt have a mother,
To lull thee fondly in her arms to rest.
Baby, why dost thy keep this sad complaining?
Long from mine eyes have kindly slumbers fled;
Hush, hush, my babe! The night is quickly waning,
And I would fain compose my aching head.
Poor wayward wretch; and who will heed thy weeping,
When soon an outcast in the world thou'lt be?
Who then will soothe thee when thy mother's sleeping
In her low grave of shame and infamy?
Sleep, baby, mine; tomorrow I must leave thee
And I would snatch and interval of rest;
Sleep these last moments, 'ere the laws bereave thee,
For never more thou'lt press a mother's breast