Hush, the bulbul's song is dying,
Little one.
See, the crescent moon is lying
In his soft, white, downy bed,
Little one, little one.
Sweet winds are the blossoms sending,
Little one.
Sweet as breath of angels bending
Round thy soft, white, downy bed,
Little one, little one.
Sleep then, Sweetling. What can harm thee,
Little one?
Mother's arms from danger charm thee,
Slumbering on thy downy bed,
Little one, little one.