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Poem	Oh, the little bird is rocking in the cradle of the wind, And it's bye, my little wee one, bye; The harvest all is gathered and the pippins all are binned; Bye, my little wee one, bye; The little rabbit's hiding in the golden shock of corn, The thrifty squirrel's laughing bunny's idleness to scorn; You are smiling with the angels in your slumber, smile till morn; So it's bye, my little wee one, bye. There'll be plenty in the cellar, there'll be plenty on the shelf; Bye, my little wee one, bye; There'll be goodly store of sweetings for a dainty little elf; [Pg 246]Bye, my little wee one, bye. The snow may be a-flying o'er the meadow and the hill, The ice has checked the chatter of the little laughing rill, But in your cosey cradle you are warm and happy still; So bye, my little wee one, bye. Why, the Bob White thinks the snowflake is a brother to his song; Bye, my little wee one, bye; And the chimney sings the sweeter when the wind is blowing strong; Bye, my little wee one, bye; The granary's overflowing, full is cellar, crib, and bin, The wood has paid its tribute and the ax has ceased its din; The winter may not harm you when you're sheltered safe within; So bye, my little wee one, bye.
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