At Even

Hush ye! Hush ye! My babe is sleeping.  
 Hush, ye winds, that are full of sorrow!  
Hush, ye rains, from your weary weeping!  
 Give him slumber until to-morrow.  
 
Hush ye, yet! In the years hereafter,  
 Surely sorrow is all his reaping;  
Tears shall be in the place of laughter,  
 Give him peace for a while in sleeping.  
 
Hush ye, hush! he is weak and ailing:  
 Send his mother his share of weeping.  
Hush ye, winds, from your endless wailing;  
 Hush ye, hush ye, my babe is sleeping!