Lyrics drawn by Frank DiGiacomo from The Cradle Song, a play by G. Martinez Sierra, translated by John Garrett Underhill, in collaboration with May Heywood Broun, published by E.P. Dutton & Co., Inc., copyright 1922, 1929 and 1931.

In Act One, a baby girl is left at the convent door by a distressed mother. In the basket with the child is a letter to the Prioress of the closed community. She reads the letter aloud to the Vicaress, Sister Sagrario, the Mistress of Novices, Sister Joanna of the Cross and other nuns. Sister Joanna is particularly excited by the presence of the baby.

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LYRICS
Mother Prioress:
Reverend Mother,
Forgive the liberty a poor woman takes, trusting in your Grace’s charity, of
leaving at the grille this new-born babe. I, my lady, am one of those they
call women of the street, and I assure you I am sorry for it; but this is the
world, and you can’t turn your back on it, and it costs as much to go down
as it does to go up, and that is what I am writing to tell you, my lady. The
truth is this little girl has no father, that is to say it is the same as if she
didn’t have any, and I...who am her mother...I leave her here, although it
costs me something to leave her; for although one is what one is, one isn’t
all bad, and I love her as much as any mother loves her baby, though she
is the best lady in the land. But all the same, though she came into this world
without being wanted by anyone, she doesn’t deserve to be the daughter of
the woman she is, above all, my lady, of her father, and I don’t want her to
have to blush for having been born the way she was, nor for having the mother
she has, and to tell it to me to my face, and I pray you by everything you hold
dear, my lady, that you will protect her and keep her with you in this holy house,
and you won’t send her to some orphanage or asylum.
If she asks, say that some devil has carried me away, and I ask your pardon, for
I must never show myself to her, nor see her again, nor give you any care nor
trouble, so you can do this good work in peace, if you will do it, for I implore you
again, my lady, that you will do it for the memory of your own dear mother, and
God will reward you, and she will live in peace, and grow up as God wills,
for what her eyes have not seen her heart cannot understand.