American Old Time Song Lyrics: 31 The Little Household King

Theater, Music-Hall, Nostalgic, Irish & Historic Old Songs, Volume 31

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Copyright, 1891, by Scott Washington & Co.
Words by W. D. Hall. Music by Fred Sylva.

There's a little wooden cradle resting in our attic high
In which long hours I have often spent;
But now I look upon it with a momentary sigh,
And I think of when I was its occupant.
The chair that stood beside it has been vacant many years.
And silver webs stretched o'er its rounds I see.
Which wakens golden memories and tills my eyes with tears,
For it brings to mind this old-time melody:

Close your little drowsy eyes, now don't you dare to peep,
And I will guard your little crib while you are asleep;
Angels will watch o'er thee until the morrow gleams.
So close your eyes, my precious prize, for that sweet land of dreams.

That cradle was my empire-a most pleasant one to me, I'll own-
And I was classed the little reigning king;
My rattle was my scepter, and a pillow was my throne,
Near which my mother used to sit and sing.
My tiny, golden tresses acted as a golden crown.
And my courtliness was a baby-skirt quite long;
But ev'ry night my power I resigned without a frown,
As I'd hear this old familiar cradle song:-Lullaby.
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