Medieval Eventide Song by Eugene Field — Read

Come hither, lyttel childe, and lie upon my breast to-night, / For yonder fares an angell yclad in raimaunt white, / And yonder sings ye angell as onely angells may, / And his songe ben of a garden that bloometh farre awaye.

To them that have no lyttel childe Godde sometimes sendeth down / A lyttel childe that ben a lyttel angell of his owne; / And if so bee they love that childe, he willeth it to staye, / But elsewise, in his mercie, he taketh it awaye.

And sometimes, though they love it, Godde yearneth for ye childe, / And sendeth angells singing, whereby it ben beguiled; / They fold their arms about ye lamb that croodleth at his play, / And beare him to ye garden that bloometh farre awaye.

I wolde not lose ye lyttel lamb that Godde hath lent to me; / If I colde sing that angell songe, how joysome I sholde be! / For, with mine arms about him, and my musick in his eare, / What angell songe of paradize soever sholde I feare?

Soe come, my lyttel childe, and lie upon my breast to-night, / For yonder fares an angell yclad in raimaunt white, / And yonder sings that angell, as onely angells may, / And his songe ben of a garden that bloometh farre awaye.