O Sleep, my baby, you are sharing
With the sun in rest repairing;
While the moon her silver chair in
  Watches with your mother.
Shoheen, sho lo,
Lulla lo lo!1

The morning on a bed of roses,
Evening on rude hills reposes:
Dusk his heavy eyelid closes,
  Under dreamy curtains.
Shoheen, sho lo,
Lulla lo lo!

The winds lie lulled on bluest billows,
Shining stars on cloudy pillows,
Waters under nodding willows,
  Mists upon the mountains.
Shoheen, sho lo,
Lulla lo lo!

Upon the fruits, upon the flowers,
On the wood birds in their bowers,
On low huts and lofty 'towers,
  Blessed sleep has fallen.
Shoheen, sho lo,
Lulla lo lo!

And ah! my child as free from cumber,
Thus thro' life could'st thou but slumber,
Thus in death go join the number
  Of God's smiling angels.
Shoheen sho lo,
Lulla lo lo!