The birdies are calling their wee ones to rest,
It's time that my birdling flew home to her nest,
Come lay your wee head down against Mother's breast.
Sleep, oh my precious one, sleep.

The shepherd is calling his lambs to the fold,
Where, near to their mothers they're safe from the cold,
And my little lambkin so closely I'll hold,
Sleep, oh my precious one, sleep.

The Father has put all His sunbeams to bed,
And lighted the silver stars high overhead,
Over all His dear children, His loving arms spread,
Sleep, oh my precious one, sleep.