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Home  »  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse  »  Ajan Syrian

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

Syrian Mother’s Lullaby

Ajan Syrian

From “The Near East”

LOW hangs the morning star,

Arahan arahan!

Dull, like a fading scar,

Arahan,

Lies the Dead Sea.

Sleep, sleep, my Christian babe!

On these Syrian sands,

Golden Syrian sands, Jesus walked;

Holding children’s hands

In his loving hands, Jesus walked:

Sleep, sleep, my Christian babe.

In my bosom hide your eyes,

For a red dawn paints the skies.

Little darling, do not weep—

Jesus’ heart its watch doth keep.

Sleep, sleep, my Christian babe.

Green flags blow down the sky,

Arahan arahan!

Turk horsemen thunder nigh,

Arahan.

By the Dead Sea.

Sleep, sleep, my Christian babe.

On these Syrian sands,

Golden Syrian sands, Jesus walked;

Clasping baby hands

In his tender hands, Jesus walked:

Sleep, sleep, my Christian babe.

Swift the crimson Turkmen ride—

Near my heart your wee head hide.

Jesus’ heart its watch doth keep;

You shall slumber safe and deep.

Sleep, sleep, my Christian babe.

Where died the morning star,

Arahan arahan,

Flames Islam’s scimitar,

Arahan,

O’er the Dead Sea.

Sleep, sleep, my Christian babe.

From these golden sands,

Ancient homeland sands, Jesus walks;

Reaching living hands

For our dying hands, Jesus walks:

Sleep, sleep, my Christian babe.

While the cold dark waters rise

In my bosom hide your eyes.

Christ before us treads the deep,

Jesus’ heart its watch doth keep;

You shall never wake to weep!

Sleep, sleep, my Christian babe.