All right, then, my little fellow,
We will sit and have a talk;
You are tired now and sleepy,
What with learning how to walk
And directing all the household
With imperious command.
Snuggle down, then, little fellow,
Let me hold your chubby hand.
Till the sand man comes, no longer!
You and I will sit and chat
Of most all things but the weather,
Some of this and some of that.
I will understand the language
Of your baby lips and eyes,
Though it carries still the accent
Of some place beyond the skies.
You're amused, my little stranger,
By the funny things you see
In the sprawling world about you;
I detect the note of glee
In your rippling peal of laughter
When to bed we say you go,
With an axiom of slumber
For a babe that wants to grow.
What's that you say, you think the sand man
Was invented by the wise
To subdue the world's commotion
When a little nipper cries?
Tut, tut, tut--my dear young fellow,
That is treason to the race!
Quite in spite of your derision,
I must save the sand man's face.
Come wake up, you sleepy bantling,
Have the manners of a guest;
Prop your eyes a little wider;
Raise your head up, try your best!
Well . . . our little talk is ended
And I hold you to my heart.
So there is a sand man baby,
And our time has come to part.
Ah, pleasant sleep and happy voyage
On the bright ship of your dreams
Till you sail to some fair harbor
Where the world is all it seems,
Where big men are true and trustful
As a baby is, like you--
And I pray that God will keep you
All the long night through!
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