An Old Superstition

The eradle is softly rock in ir, A lullaby croons In the air: The baby has ceased its crying, And yet there is nobody there. The motlier asleep 'neath the roses. Is resting quietiy,too; Then who is rocking the baby When nobody is in view Í And why is the baby smiling, Tbat will never waken to weep! Wtun there was nobody watcbing The Lat y died in its sleep!