Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the lord my soul to take.
Hush-a-bye don't you cry, go to sleep you little baby;
Way down yonder in the meadow lies a poor little lambie
The bees and butterflies peckin' out his eyes
The poor little thing cries 'Mammy.'
Rock-a-bye baby, on the tree top,
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock;
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,
And down will come baby, cradle and all.