When the day is nearly over, and the shadows are all gray,
There’s a place in father’s garden where I dearly love to stay;
For I’m tired of all my lessons, and I’m weary of my play,
When the day is nearly over, and the shadows are all gray.
There’s a motherly old willow growing close against the wall,
And I climb up in her branches, and I know I cannot fall,
For she rocks me very softly, in her gentle, loving way,
When the day is nearly over, and the shadows are all gray.
Softly to her leaves and branches come the breezes of the night
And they sing me songs of slumber, in the dim and restful light;
“Sleep and slumber, sleep and slumber, little child,” they seem to say,
“For the day is nearly over, and the shadows are all gray.”