Troubled, wildered and forlorn
Dark benighted, travel-worn
And all heart-broke I heard her say:
"oh my children, does it cry?
Does it hear its mother sigh?"
Pitying I dropped a tear
But I saw a starbeam near
Who replied:
"i am set to light you the ground
While your mother strives around
Follow now the mother's groans
Little wanderer, hurry home,
Hurry home!"
Little wanderer, hurry home!
Sweet sleep, angel mild,
