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Lie Down SingingHow a songbook saved my nighttimes.

By Emily BazelonPosted Tuesday, Dec. 23, 2008, at 6:58 AM ET

Buy now from AmazonBedtime at our house has two rituals: stories and songs. (Yes, some children take nightly baths. Ours prefer dirt.) The books come first, the lights go out, and then Simon, who is 5, asks me or my husband, Paul, to sing. Three or four or five songs later, he asks us to sing some more.

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We oblige. Going to sleep has never come easily to Simon. And so the lullaby medley at our house often turns into a miniconcert, in terms of quantity if not quality. This is all very sweet, I know—whenever I complain about the singing, people whose children have grown up tell me I'll miss it desperately someday. But at the moment, singing night after night gets tedious. I'm tired of my standard repertoire, and so is Simon. He has ruled out "Tender Shepherd" ("No more sheep"), "Hush Little Baby" ("I'm not a baby"), and "I Gave My Love a Cherry" ("Mommy stop singing that boring song!"). Also, almost anything in Hebrew and absolutely everything from Free To Be … You and Me. This is why, in our house, the songbook Rise Up Singing represents a nightly form of deliverance.

How many songs do most of us know by heart—beyond, that is, bits and snatches? How many of those songs wear well with kids? When folk singer Pete Seeger asked the first question of the men he was serving with in the Army in 1943, he was impressed with their responses. Now he thinks the list would be paltry. Rise Up Singing, which Seeger helped bring into being, is an answer to the ebbing away of shared lyric and melody. The book, which has sold more than 1 million copies, according to its creators, turns 20 this year. It is exactly as advertised on its blue, spiral-bound cover: "The Group Singing Songbook" with "Words, Chords, and Sources to 1,200 Songs."

The editors of this compendium are Peter Blood, a nurse who lives in Amherst, Mass., and his wife, Annie Patterson, a graphic designer who assigned the book's whimsical illustrations, which run toward smooching people and smiling animals. (On the cover, a girl with flowing tresses and a skirt of rivers and valleys helps birds—they can only be doves—take flight.) When Blood was a counselor in the 1970s at the Vermont summer camp Farm & Wilderness, his teenage campers wanted to sing Bob Dylan and Joni Mitchell. So Blood set them to work on a songbook. His first effort, called Winds of the People, was distributed informally. Then Blood and Patterson hooked up with Seeger and Sing Out!, the nonprofit chronicler of the folk movement, to round up the copyright permissions needed for official publication. Blood worked on the project full-time for two years "mostly haranguing publishers," he says. Seeger's manager helped him get their attention; his efforts are partly responsible for the hearty serving of Broadway songs that the book includes. The folk singers were easier to persuade. "They basically gave away their songs because they wanted them out there getting sung," Blood says. "They knew it was a words-only book, so it wouldn't compete with their recordings."

A canny choice. In my experience, there's a direct line between thumbing through Rise Up Singing and downloading songs from iTunes. The ballad "Pretty Peggy-O," which I grew up listening to Joan Baez croon ... there it is on Page 13, with angrier and more interesting lyrics than I remembered. The subversive lyrics to "This Land Is Your Land," which I'd forgotten, that Woody Guthrie wrote? Page 5, along with (sacrilege!) a Canadian chorus.