Moments

Designed and handmade by Stacey Peter

Medieval Eventide Song

Come hither, lyttel childe, and lie upon my breast tonight, 

For younder fares an angell yclad in raimanunt 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 be 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 geguiled;

They fold their arms about ye lamb that croodleth at his 

play,

And beare him to ye garden that bloometh farre awaye.

I woulde 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 fear?

Soe come, my lyttel childe, and lie upon my breast to-night, 

For yonder fares and angell yclad in raimaunt white,

And youder sings that angell, as onely angells may,

And his songe ben of a garden that bloometh farre awaye.

Poems of Childhood 

Eugene Field