Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake,
    Mamma's boy,
  Laughing and crowing,
    And jumping with joy;
  Roll it, and pick it and mark it with B,
    And toss in the oven for Baby and me.

  Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake,
    Papa's girl,
  Springing in baby-glee,
    Shaking her curl;
  Roll it and pick it and mark it with G,
    And toss in the oven for Girly and me.

    Hey, my kitten, my kitten,
    Hey, my kitten, my deary;
  If Mamma should feed him too often,
    He never could be so cheery.
    Here we go up, up, up.
  And here we go down, down, down-y.
  If we never feed baby too much,
    He never will give us a frown-y.

    Hey, my kitten, my kitten,
    Hey, my kitten, my deary;
  We'll put him to bed with the birdies,
    And that will make him so cheery!
    Here we go up, up, up,
  And here we go down, down, down-y;
  If we give him nothing but smiles,
    He will give us never a frown-y.

  Winkum, winkum, shut your eye,
  Sweet, my baby, lullaby;
  For the dew is falling soft,
  Lights are flickering up aloft,
  And the head-light's peeping over
  Yonder hill-top capped with clover;
  Chickens long have gone to rest,
  Birds lie snug within their nest,
  And my birdie soon will be
  Sleeping with the chick-a-dee,
  For with only half a try,
  Winkum, winkum, shuts her eye.

  Jingle! jingle! baby's bell;
  What a tale its tongue might tell.
  Could it speak it sure would say,
  "When the baby's tired with play,
  And is getting cross, don't try
  To jingle bells, but hush-a-bye;
  All so still, now crooning low,
  Lull-a-bye, bye-o, bye-o,--
  Quiet down his quaking nerves,
  Soothe him as his state deserves;--
  Passing hand from head to feet,
  Sl-o-w-l-y, softly, loving, sweet,
  As to smooth the feathers down,
  Rumpled, from your birdling's crown;--  {19}  See, he sleeps, and in his dream
  Yours may hand of angel seem,
  Raveling out the tangled ills,
  Knitting up with restful thrills."

  Willy-Nilly, birdy sings,
    For he's running over
  With the music that he flings
    To his sweet bird-lover;--
  Willy-nilly, baby laughs,
   Gay and glad and gleeful;
  Brimming over high with health,
    She is always playful.

  New-born baby, soft and pink,
  Of the two worlds on the brink.

  One month old,--eat and sleep;
  Precious little human heap.

  Two months old,--tear and smile;
  Fists in mouth and eyes the while.

  Three months old,--"goo-a-goo,"
  Windows wide where soul looks through.

  Four months old,--finds his toes,
  Tries to fix them on his nose.   {21}
  Five months old,--first wee pearl;
  All the household in a whirl.

  Six months old,--sits alone;
  Wishes swaddling clothes were gone.

  Seven months old,--creep and crawl,
  Wonder-eyed, a charm to all.

  Eight months old,--confiscate
  Pussy's tail and papa's pate.

  Nine months old,--roguish eyes
  Deepening daily; wilful, wise.

  Ten months old,--witching ways
  Wind us in; the baby pays!

  Eleven months old,--finger-tip
  Guides the elfin on his trip.

  Year old,--lots of mischief done;
  Walking, talking, just for fun.

  Sleep now, my sweetey,
  Dear one, and pretty!
  Weary with playing,
  Weary with straying,
  Stop little thinkers,
  Shut little winkers;
  Sleep, little sweetey,
  Precious and pretty.

  Sleep now, my sweetey,
  Dear One, and pretty!
  Stop little thinkers,
  Shut little winkers,
  Angels a-watching
  Sleep-doors unlatching;
  Slip in, my sweetey,
  Precious and pretty!

  Sleeping, my sweetey,
  Dear one, and pretty!
  Stopped, little thinkers,
  Shut, little winkers,
  Angels a-watching,
  Sleep-doors are latching;
  Slipped in, my sweetey,
  Precious and pretty!

  If mamma says she'll punish,
    She must do it, or she tells
  A fib, as Sister Annie
    Told "a story" 'bout the bells;
  And if mamma tells a fib,
    Then surely children will,
  And what a fearful thing,
    Our home with fibs to fill!

    Humpty-Dumpty, hip-o'-to-hop,
  Baby is crying, why doesn't he stop?
  What does he cry for? his clothing is tight;
  No wonder such things make baby a fright.

    Humpty-dumpty, hip-o'-to-hop,
  Baby was crying, but now he will stop;
  What did he cry for? his clothing was wet;
  No wonder such things should make babies fret.

    Humpty-dumpty, hip-o'-to-hop,
  Baby is crying, oh, when will he stop?
  What does he cry for? his feet are a-cold;
  No wonder such things should make baby scold.  {25}
    Humpty-dumpty, hip-o'-to-hop,
  Baby is crying, but soon he will stop;
  What does he cry for? he had too much food;
  No baby in this way can ever be good.

    Humpty-dumpty, hip-o'-to-hop,
  Baby is laughing and scarcely will stop;
  What does he laugh for? Oh, when he feels well,
  He always is happy,--'tis thus we can tell.