A superstition prevails in Ireland, that when a child smiles in its
sleep, it is "talking with the angels."
A baby was sleeping,
Its mother was weeping,
For her husband was far o'er the wild raging sea,
And the tempest was swelling
Round the fisherman's dwelling,
And she cried: "Dermot, darling, oh! come back to me."
Her beads while she numbered,
The baby still slumbered,
And smiled in her face, as she bended her knee,
Oh! blessed be that warning,
My child, thy sleep adorning,
For I know that the angels are whisp'ring with thee.
And while they are keeping
Bright watch o'er thy sleeping,
Oh! pray to them softly, my baby, with me,
And say thou would'st rather
They'd watch o'er thy father!
For I know that the angels are whisp'ring with thee.
The dawn of the morning
Saw Dermot returning,
And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see,
And closely caressing
Her child with a blessing,
Said: "I knew that the angels were whisp'ring with thee."