Come quickly, little sister-girl, the stars are being lit,
The night from down the dusky hills is creeping, bit by bit,
The baby moon is sailing; O, just come out and see,
How the Nightman lights the pretty stars for little you and me!
For he’s the fairy of the skies, and wears a robe of blue,
He’s old as all the years there are, and yet as young as you,
He has a magic torch to hold; it reaches up so far
That, standing on the hill-top, he can light the farthest star.
And one by one they twinkle out, so very glad and bright
We’re sure he must have touched them with his magic torch of light;
Look up there, little sister-girl, beyond the hill, and see
The big new one that’s glowing now, for little you and me!
Oh, isn’t Nightman good to us, to light the stars o’ nights?
He shows us every evening just the prettiest of sights;
For he’s the fairy of the skies—he wears a robe of blue—
And old as all the years is he—yet just as young as you.