Evening Song

Hush, my little one, don’t you cry;
The sun is sinking down from the sky;
The birds are resting, the leaves are still,
And the moon starts her climb o’er the hill.

The crickets are singing their sweet lullaby,
The stars will soon twinkle high up on high;
The flowers are sleeping, their petals enfold,
All nature is hushed in a slumber of gold.

• James Weldon Johnson