Come to the land where the babies grow,
Like flowers in the

green, green grass.
Tiny babes that swing and

crow
Whenever the warm winds pass,
And laugh at their own

bright eyes aglow
In a fairy looking-glass.

Come to the

sea where the babies sail
In ships of shining pearl,
Borne

to the west by a golden gale
Of sun-beams all awhirl;
And

perhaps a baby brother will sail
To you, my little girl.