Says Kabir:
Lord, I weave the cloth of Thy Name

The fruitless toil
Of weaving for the world
Has come to an end;

I have attained
The dazzling state of bliss —
Free from fear, free from pain,
I am the weaver, O Lord, of Thy Name;

I weave and reap the profit
Of inner rapport with Thee.
I am the weaver of the Lord’s Name.







Go to sleep, go to sleep
Go to sleepy little baby
When you wake, have some cake
And ride them pretty little horses

Black and a bay, sorrel and a gray
A whole heap a little horses
Black and a bay, sorrel and a gray
A whole heap a little horses

Little ole horse, little ole cow
Amblin' around on the old hay mow
Little ole horse, he took a chew
Darned if I don't, said the ole cow too



Kristin Hersh