Explore "In This Cradle Life of Ours" by Annie Fellows Johnston on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
THE world swings slowly back and forth, / From dawn to dusk, from dusk to dawn, / And we forget the hand that rocks, / But, cradle-like, the world swings on.
A little while to stir and fret, / Or sob with trembling lip / Because the sunbeams we would grasp / Through helpless fingers slip.
A little while to moan, and start / From fevered dreams, and weep, / For still the cradle sways and swings / Until we fall asleep.
The broad earth's pillow is so soft / To weary heads, and who can tell / But through that sleep sound lullabies / Of the white angel, Israfel?