SOMETIMES w’en I got to pile wood in the
yard,
’Ist wringin’ with sweat ’cuz I’m workin’ so
hard,
An’ see all the neighbors’ boys startin’ to fish,
I can’t hardly work any more, an’ I wish
’At I wuz a-goin’ an’ ’en right away
I run an’ ast Ma if I can’t go today,
An’ she says to me ’en: “Johnny Jones, you can run
Off an’ fish ’ist as soon as your work is all done.
yard,
’Ist wringin’ with sweat ’cuz I’m workin’ so
hard,
An’ see all the neighbors’ boys startin’ to fish,
I can’t hardly work any more, an’ I wish
’At I wuz a-goin’ an’ ’en right away
I run an’ ast Ma if I can’t go today,
An’ she says to me ’en: “Johnny Jones, you can run
Off an’ fish ’ist as soon as your work is all done.
You must work while you work,
You must play while you play
An’ ’en you’ll be happy for many a day.”
An’ mebbe it’s so,
But my goodness! to go
With the boys ’at’s gone fishin’!—I guess she dunno!
You must play while you play
An’ ’en you’ll be happy for many a day.”
An’ mebbe it’s so,
But my goodness! to go
With the boys ’at’s gone fishin’!—I guess she dunno!
Sometimes w’en I got to hoe garden an’ hear
The boys playin’ ball in the next lot, so near
I hear ’em all cheerin’ an’ see ’em all score,
I can’t hardly stand it to hoe any more.
So ’en I ast Ma if I can’t go an’ play
An’ promise to hoe twict as much the next day,
But she says to me ’en: “Johnny Jones, you can run
Off an’ play ’ist as soon as your work is all done.
The boys playin’ ball in the next lot, so near
I hear ’em all cheerin’ an’ see ’em all score,
I can’t hardly stand it to hoe any more.
So ’en I ast Ma if I can’t go an’ play
An’ promise to hoe twict as much the next day,
But she says to me ’en: “Johnny Jones, you can run
Off an’ play ’ist as soon as your work is all done.
You must work while you work,
You must play while you play
An’ ’en you’ll be happy for many a day.”
An’ mebbe it’s so,
But, my goodness! to hoe
W’en you hear ’em a-playin’!—I guess she dunno.
You must play while you play
An’ ’en you’ll be happy for many a day.”
An’ mebbe it’s so,
But, my goodness! to hoe
W’en you hear ’em a-playin’!—I guess she dunno.
Sometimes w’en the snow gets all piled up so deep
On the walk ’at she tells me to go out an’ sweep
It all off, an’ Sam Russell comes by with his sled,
My broom ’at I’m usin’ gets heavy as lead.
An’ I can’t hardly sweep, an’ I ast Ma if I
Can’t go out a-slidin’ an’ sweep by an’ by,
But she says to me ’en: “Johnny Jones, you can run
Off and slide ’ist as soon as your work is all done.
On the walk ’at she tells me to go out an’ sweep
It all off, an’ Sam Russell comes by with his sled,
My broom ’at I’m usin’ gets heavy as lead.
An’ I can’t hardly sweep, an’ I ast Ma if I
Can’t go out a-slidin’ an’ sweep by an’ by,
But she says to me ’en: “Johnny Jones, you can run
Off and slide ’ist as soon as your work is all done.
SO LONESOME NOW
OVER t’ Henry Murray’s, why,
They always had lots an’ lots o’ pie,
An’ toy automobiles an’ v’locipedes
An’ walkin’ toys, like a fellow reads
About sometimes, but he seldom sees,
An’ swings out under th’ big oak trees,
An’ childurn a-playin’ on every bough—
But my! It is turrible lonesome now.
They always had lots an’ lots o’ pie,
An’ toy automobiles an’ v’locipedes
An’ walkin’ toys, like a fellow reads
About sometimes, but he seldom sees,
An’ swings out under th’ big oak trees,
An’ childurn a-playin’ on every bough—
But my! It is turrible lonesome now.
Over t’ Henry Murray’s, why,
His mother an’ father ’ist seemed t’ try
An’ see if they couldn’t get some new toys
For Henry an’ all of us other boys
’At played with him; an’ she used t’ make
Th’ dandiest currant an’ raisin cake,
An’ boys ’ist flocked there like flies, somehow—
But my! It is turrible lonesome now.
His mother an’ father ’ist seemed t’ try
An’ see if they couldn’t get some new toys
For Henry an’ all of us other boys
’At played with him; an’ she used t’ make
Th’ dandiest currant an’ raisin cake,
An’ boys ’ist flocked there like flies, somehow—
But my! It is turrible lonesome now.
Over’t Henry Murray’s, why,
His mother ’ud see you goin’ by
An’ ast you why you didn’t come an’ play
With Henry an’ all of his toys, some day.
An’ every Christmas she’d have a tree
With presents, th’ finest you ever see,
An’ nobody got forgot, somehow—
But my! It is turrible lonesome now.
His mother ’ud see you goin’ by
An’ ast you why you didn’t come an’ play
With Henry an’ all of his toys, some day.
An’ every Christmas she’d have a tree
With presents, th’ finest you ever see,
An’ nobody got forgot, somehow—
But my! It is turrible lonesome now.
An’ over t’ Henry Murray’s, why,
We boys ’ist look while we’re goin’ by,
An’ see all his toys layin’ there outside.
Once Big Bill Skinner broke down an’ cried
An’ says he don’t care—it was ’ist too bad,
’Cause Henry was all of th’ boy they had.
An’ th’ swings ’ist hang from th’ big oak bough bough—
An’ my! It is turrible lonesome now.
We boys ’ist look while we’re goin’ by,
An’ see all his toys layin’ there outside.
Once Big Bill Skinner broke down an’ cried
An’ says he don’t care—it was ’ist too bad,
’Cause Henry was all of th’ boy they had.
An’ th’ swings ’ist hang from th’ big oak bough bough—
An’ my! It is turrible lonesome now.
A LITTLE LOVE STORY
SHE understands. I do not need to go
And tell her she is all the world to me.
I never speak a word to let her know
I will be faithful till Eternity,
But when, upon the way to school, she sees
Me come with two red apples in my hands
And hears me say: “Please, Sally Jane, take these,”
It is no wonder that she understands.
And tell her she is all the world to me.
I never speak a word to let her know
I will be faithful till Eternity,
But when, upon the way to school, she sees
Me come with two red apples in my hands
And hears me say: “Please, Sally Jane, take these,”
It is no wonder that she understands.
Or when she sees me at the old front gate
With my new sled right after the first snow,
And from her window calls to me to wait
Until she asks her Mother can she go,
I do not need to tell her why I come
In my fur cap with mittens on my hands,
For even if my feelings make me dumb
She looks at me and then she understands.
With my new sled right after the first snow,
And from her window calls to me to wait
Until she asks her Mother can she go,
I do not need to tell her why I come
In my fur cap with mittens on my hands,
For even if my feelings make me dumb
She looks at me and then she understands.
Or if she whispers something when in school,
As children are quite often apt to do,
Forgetting all about the teacher’s rule,
And teacher says to Sally: “Was that you?”
Why then I see how scared she is and rise
Up in my seat and hold up both my hands
And take the blame—she looks into my eyes eyes—
I do not need to speak—she understands.
As children are quite often apt to do,
Forgetting all about the teacher’s rule,
And teacher says to Sally: “Was that you?”
Why then I see how scared she is and rise
Up in my seat and hold up both my hands
And take the blame—she looks into my eyes eyes—
I do not need to speak—she understands.
Or if she has the measles so I dare
Not go up to her house, but I can look
In through the window and she sees me there,
And if I bring a dandy story book
And leave it on the fence post where the nurse
Can come and take it in, and if my hands
Have written, “Dear, I hope you’ll be no worse,”
I do not need to speak—she understands.
Not go up to her house, but I can look
In through the window and she sees me there,
And if I bring a dandy story book
And leave it on the fence post where the nurse
Can come and take it in, and if my hands
Have written, “Dear, I hope you’ll be no worse,”
I do not need to speak—she understands.
I do not need to tell her how I feel—
She only has to watch the things I do;
She knows my heart is true to her as steel,
And if it rains or if the sky is blue
I wait for her to walk to school with me,
And carry all her school-books in my hands,
And I am just as happy as can be,
And so is she—because she understands.
She only has to watch the things I do;
She knows my heart is true to her as steel,
And if it rains or if the sky is blue
I wait for her to walk to school with me,
And carry all her school-books in my hands,
And I am just as happy as can be,
And so is she—because she understands.
ON A NOISELESS FOURTH
ON a noiseless street stood a crackerless lad with a screechless fife and a headless drum,
Venting his glee in a voiceless shout, as a blareless band, all still and dumb,
Came down the length of the avenue, and a bugle corps blew a noteless blare,
While a screechless rocket with noiseless hiss cut a fireless path through the silent air.
The blareless band played a soundless tune and the crackerless lad gave a voiceless shout
As the rippling folds of the unfurled flag from the upheld standard fluttered out.
“Hurrah!” he cried with a voiceless cry, put forth from his lips in a speechless way.
“Hurrah for the guns of Lexington and the noiseless Independence Day!”
Venting his glee in a voiceless shout, as a blareless band, all still and dumb,
Came down the length of the avenue, and a bugle corps blew a noteless blare,
While a screechless rocket with noiseless hiss cut a fireless path through the silent air.
The blareless band played a soundless tune and the crackerless lad gave a voiceless shout
As the rippling folds of the unfurled flag from the upheld standard fluttered out.
“Hurrah!” he cried with a voiceless cry, put forth from his lips in a speechless way.
“Hurrah for the guns of Lexington and the noiseless Independence Day!”
Then far away down the village street a smokeless gun belched a soundless roar,
A popless cracker fizzless died, and the band played a blareless tune once more;
The clickless guns of the village guards with a thudless sound dropped on the ground.
The marshal left his neighless horse, and the voiceless mob ranged all around;
A fizzless pinwheel silent whirred, and the drum corps joined in a tootless screech,
The lips of the village speaker moved in the tongueless strains of a wordless speech.
Then a graceless benediction fell, and the crackerless lad, in a voiceless way,
Gave a soundless shout for Bunker Hill and the noiseless Independence Day.
A popless cracker fizzless died, and the band played a blareless tune once more;
The clickless guns of the village guards with a thudless sound dropped on the ground.
The marshal left his neighless horse, and the voiceless mob ranged all around;
A fizzless pinwheel silent whirred, and the drum corps joined in a tootless screech,
The lips of the village speaker moved in the tongueless strains of a wordless speech.
Then a graceless benediction fell, and the crackerless lad, in a voiceless way,
Gave a soundless shout for Bunker Hill and the noiseless Independence Day.
Oh, the pulseless thrill of the noiseless guns and the tootless fifes and the headless drums,
The heartless joy of the crackerless lad, as the soundless pageant noiseless comes
Down the village street, and the sightless glow of the hissless rocket’s fireless glare
With noiseless swish from the silent earth through the measureless breadth of the lightless air!
But a fingerless youth of the olden time, when crackers popped and cannons roared,
Looked on the scene with much disgust and the look of a lad who is greatly bored;
And he cried aloud—’twas the only sound that was heard, not made in a voiceless way:
“Dog-gone the guns at Bunker Hill and the noiseless Independence Day!”
The heartless joy of the crackerless lad, as the soundless pageant noiseless comes
Down the village street, and the sightless glow of the hissless rocket’s fireless glare
With noiseless swish from the silent earth through the measureless breadth of the lightless air!
But a fingerless youth of the olden time, when crackers popped and cannons roared,
Looked on the scene with much disgust and the look of a lad who is greatly bored;
And he cried aloud—’twas the only sound that was heard, not made in a voiceless way:
“Dog-gone the guns at Bunker Hill and the noiseless Independence Day!”
CONSCIOUS IGNORANCE
I’M only ’ist a little girl,
An’ w’en I want to play
An’ Mamma says don’t go outside
Our yard this livelong day,
An’ w’en some other girls ’ey come
An’ pester me to go,
It may be wrong, but I’m so young,
How does she s’pose I know?
An’ w’en I want to play
An’ Mamma says don’t go outside
Our yard this livelong day,
An’ w’en some other girls ’ey come
An’ pester me to go,
It may be wrong, but I’m so young,
How does she s’pose I know?
An’ ’en w’en she goes out sometimes
An’ says: “Now go to bed
At eight o’clock this very night,”
I ’member what she said.
But w’en the mantel clock strikes eight
An’ I don’t want to go,
It may be wrong, but I’m so young,
How does she s’pose I know?
An’ says: “Now go to bed
At eight o’clock this very night,”
I ’member what she said.
But w’en the mantel clock strikes eight
An’ I don’t want to go,
It may be wrong, but I’m so young,
How does she s’pose I know?
THE PLAYTIME OF BACHELOR BILL
OUR Uncle Bill’s a bachelur, an’ it’s an awful shame,
’Cuz he knows stories about bears an’ knows ’em all by name.
An’ growls ’ist like a really one an’ makes you think a bear
Is underneath th’ table, but of course it isn’t there.
An’ when he takes you on his knee he talks ’ist like a book
An’ after w’ile your eyes get big an’ you’re a-scairt to look
W’en he says: “Nen a bear come out an’ ’ist went Boo-oo-oo!”
Becuz you almost think a bear is really after you.
’Cuz he knows stories about bears an’ knows ’em all by name.
An’ growls ’ist like a really one an’ makes you think a bear
Is underneath th’ table, but of course it isn’t there.
An’ when he takes you on his knee he talks ’ist like a book
An’ after w’ile your eyes get big an’ you’re a-scairt to look
W’en he says: “Nen a bear come out an’ ’ist went Boo-oo-oo!”
Becuz you almost think a bear is really after you.
An’ ’en he plays wild Indian an’ hides himself somewheres
W’ile we look in th’ corners an’ behind th’ parlor chairs,
An’ peek in th’ dark closets an’ p’tend we’re on a scout
Till after w’ile he makes a whoop an’ ’en comes rushin’ out
’Ist like he’s on th’ warpath; an’ us chinnern run upstairs
An’ hide in Mamma’s closet an’ he makes us think ’at bears
Are comin’ in to get us an’ he growls ’ist like he’s one,
An’ my! we’re turble scairt an’ yet it’s awful lots o’ fun.
W’ile we look in th’ corners an’ behind th’ parlor chairs,
An’ peek in th’ dark closets an’ p’tend we’re on a scout
Till after w’ile he makes a whoop an’ ’en comes rushin’ out
’Ist like he’s on th’ warpath; an’ us chinnern run upstairs
An’ hide in Mamma’s closet an’ he makes us think ’at bears
Are comin’ in to get us an’ he growls ’ist like he’s one,
An’ my! we’re turble scairt an’ yet it’s awful lots o’ fun.
An’ ’en he is a pirate an’ he makes us chinnern play
At we are in a shipwreck an’ th’ crew is cast away
Upon a desert island w’ere his treasure chest is hid,
An’ we are only sailors an’ his name is Captain Kidd.
An’ w’en we hear him comin’ he ’ist roars an’ ’en we run,
’Cuz he has broomsticks for a sword an’ pokers for a gun,
An’ after w’ile he kills us all but it don’t hurt, an’ w’en
He sails away in his big ship we come to life again.
At we are in a shipwreck an’ th’ crew is cast away
Upon a desert island w’ere his treasure chest is hid,
An’ we are only sailors an’ his name is Captain Kidd.
An’ w’en we hear him comin’ he ’ist roars an’ ’en we run,
’Cuz he has broomsticks for a sword an’ pokers for a gun,
An’ after w’ile he kills us all but it don’t hurt, an’ w’en
He sails away in his big ship we come to life again.
’En after w’ile our Mother comes an’ taps him on th’ head,
An’ says it’s time for bears an’ scouts an’ things to be in bed,
An’ leads us chinnern all upstairs an’ maybe if we keep
Right still she’ll let th’ candle burn until we go to sleep.
’En after w’ile our Uncle Bill comes up to say good-night,
An’ see how snug an’ warm we are an’ all tucked in so tight,
An’ ’en he kisses us good-night an’ ’en his eyes ’ist blur:
I guess we make him sorry ’at he is a bachelur!
An’ says it’s time for bears an’ scouts an’ things to be in bed,
An’ leads us chinnern all upstairs an’ maybe if we keep
Right still she’ll let th’ candle burn until we go to sleep.
’En after w’ile our Uncle Bill comes up to say good-night,
An’ see how snug an’ warm we are an’ all tucked in so tight,
An’ ’en he kisses us good-night an’ ’en his eyes ’ist blur:
I guess we make him sorry ’at he is a bachelur!
HOW HENRY BLAKE KNOWS
DON’T you dast kill a toad, Henry Blake says, for true
As your’re born it’ll rain right away if you do.
For Henry Blake says oncet some boys ’at he knowed
Were goin’ a-fishin’ an’ one killed a toad,
An’ it all clouded up an’ it got just as black,
An’ it thundered an’ lightninged before they got back
Till they were awful scairt. He says he dunno why,
But he thinks toads has somethin’ t’ do with the sky.
An’ Henry Blake showed
Us th’ place in th’ road
Where the boys went an’ kilt him an’ that’s how he knowed.
As your’re born it’ll rain right away if you do.
For Henry Blake says oncet some boys ’at he knowed
Were goin’ a-fishin’ an’ one killed a toad,
An’ it all clouded up an’ it got just as black,
An’ it thundered an’ lightninged before they got back
Till they were awful scairt. He says he dunno why,
But he thinks toads has somethin’ t’ do with the sky.
An’ Henry Blake showed
Us th’ place in th’ road
Where the boys went an’ kilt him an’ that’s how he knowed.
Henry Blake says if you just split a bean
An’ put half of it on a wart when it’s green,
An’ throw half of it between midnight an’ dawn
In a cistern somewhere, why, your wart’ll be gone
Just as soon as it rots. Henry Blake says it’s true
’Cuz a friend of his showed him a bean cut in two
That took off a big wart, an’ th’ half was all black
An’ Henry Blake says that it never came back.
An’ Henry’s friend showed
Him th’ cistern he throwed
The other half into an’ that’s how he knowed!
An’ put half of it on a wart when it’s green,
An’ throw half of it between midnight an’ dawn
In a cistern somewhere, why, your wart’ll be gone
Just as soon as it rots. Henry Blake says it’s true
’Cuz a friend of his showed him a bean cut in two
That took off a big wart, an’ th’ half was all black
An’ Henry Blake says that it never came back.
An’ Henry’s friend showed
Him th’ cistern he throwed
The other half into an’ that’s how he knowed!
THE LAND OF BLOW BUBBLES
HIS curls are like rings of red gold on his head,
His lips are as red as a cherry,
His cheeks are as round as an apple, and red,
His eyes full of mischief and merry.
His heart is as pure as a snowflake in air,
A fig for the whole of his troubles!
For he’s my Boy Careless—you’ve seen him somewhere,
And he lives in the land of Blow Bubbles!
His lips are as red as a cherry,
His cheeks are as round as an apple, and red,
His eyes full of mischief and merry.
His heart is as pure as a snowflake in air,
A fig for the whole of his troubles!
For he’s my Boy Careless—you’ve seen him somewhere,
And he lives in the land of Blow Bubbles!
Now he’s riding a stick that is legless and dead,
Through the lanes and across the sere stubbles,
For a stick is a horse with four legs and a head
In that magic boy land of Blow Bubbles!
He bears at his side a sword cut from a lath,
With a big wooden gun on his shoulder,
And woe to the wild beast that crosses his path
For never a huntsman was bolder.
Through the lanes and across the sere stubbles,
For a stick is a horse with four legs and a head
In that magic boy land of Blow Bubbles!
He bears at his side a sword cut from a lath,
With a big wooden gun on his shoulder,
And woe to the wild beast that crosses his path
For never a huntsman was bolder.
Now down from his steed leaps Boy Careless in haste,
He drops on one knee in the stubbles,
For stubbles are woods full of wild beasts, all chased
To their death by the boys in Blow Bubbles!
His musket he brings to his shoulder and shoots,
The sound of it echoes and doubles,
For a make-believe gun kills the make-believe brutes
In that magic boy land of Blow Bubbles.
He drops on one knee in the stubbles,
For stubbles are woods full of wild beasts, all chased
To their death by the boys in Blow Bubbles!
His musket he brings to his shoulder and shoots,
The sound of it echoes and doubles,
For a make-believe gun kills the make-believe brutes
In that magic boy land of Blow Bubbles.
Then out from the forest a savage all red
With blood-curdling yell leaps to battle,
A thrust from the big wooden sword—he is dead
With a most melancholy death-rattle.
Then up from the ground lifts Boy Careless his horse,
And back o’er the all-trackless stubbles,
For it’s many a mile to his cabin, of course,
In the magic boy land of Blow Bubbles.
With blood-curdling yell leaps to battle,
A thrust from the big wooden sword—he is dead
With a most melancholy death-rattle.
Then up from the ground lifts Boy Careless his horse,
And back o’er the all-trackless stubbles,
For it’s many a mile to his cabin, of course,
In the magic boy land of Blow Bubbles.
Oh, joy to the lad in his make-believe ride
With the make-believe gun on his shoulder,
With the make-believe sword cut from lath at his side,
And a sigh from the heart that is older!
A whistle for Care from the harp of his lips,
A fig for the whole of his troubles,
When he’s off like the wind on his make-believe trips
In the magic boy land of Blow Bubbles!
With the make-believe gun on his shoulder,
With the make-believe sword cut from lath at his side,
And a sigh from the heart that is older!
A whistle for Care from the harp of his lips,
A fig for the whole of his troubles,
When he’s off like the wind on his make-believe trips
In the magic boy land of Blow Bubbles!
THE GINGERCAKE MAN
THE Gingercake man was a lump of brown dough
Till a great rolling pin was run over him, so!
To flatten him out, and he lay there so thin,
His bones almost popped through the holes in his skin;
They sifted him over with flour and spice,
And made him some eyes with two kernels of rice,
And took some dried currants, the biggest and best,
To make him some buttons for closing his vest.
Till a great rolling pin was run over him, so!
To flatten him out, and he lay there so thin,
His bones almost popped through the holes in his skin;
They sifted him over with flour and spice,
And made him some eyes with two kernels of rice,
And took some dried currants, the biggest and best,
To make him some buttons for closing his vest.
The Gingercake man wabbled this way and that,
When they seeded a raisin and made him a hat
That was stuck on his head in the jauntiest way,
For a Gingercake man is not made every day.
They stuck in some cloves for his ears; yes, indeed!
And made him some teeth out of caraway seed,
And when he was finished they buttered a pan—
The biggest they had—for the Gingercake man.
When they seeded a raisin and made him a hat
That was stuck on his head in the jauntiest way,
For a Gingercake man is not made every day.
They stuck in some cloves for his ears; yes, indeed!
And made him some teeth out of caraway seed,
And when he was finished they buttered a pan—
The biggest they had—for the Gingercake man.
Then into the oven they put him to bake
Until he was hard and could stand and not break
His legs when he stood; and they set him to cool
Until all the children should come home from school.
And oh, the delight and the wonder and glee,
When mother invited the children to see,
Until he was hard and could stand and not break
His legs when he stood; and they set him to cool
Until all the children should come home from school.
And oh, the delight and the wonder and glee,
When mother invited the children to see,
ALL sifted with sugar and out of the pan,
The good-natured face of the Gingercake man.
The good-natured face of the Gingercake man.
But alas and alas! ’Tis a short life and sweet
Is the Gingercake man’s—for they ate off his feet,
They broke off his arms with the hungriest zest,
And picked all the buttons from out of his vest;
They nibbled his legs off and ate up his hat,
And everything edible went just like that,
Till the cloves and the kernels of rice you may scan
As all that is left of the Gingercake man!
Is the Gingercake man’s—for they ate off his feet,
They broke off his arms with the hungriest zest,
And picked all the buttons from out of his vest;
They nibbled his legs off and ate up his hat,
And everything edible went just like that,
Till the cloves and the kernels of rice you may scan
As all that is left of the Gingercake man!
LONESOME
SAY, little boy, be friends with me and I’ll be friends with you;
And I won’t never tell on you, no matter what you do.
It’s awful lonesome over here and, goodness, but it’s hard
To have your mother say that you must play in your back yard.
There’s lots of daisies where I am, and butterflies as bright
As anything you ever saw, and I just saw one light;
Perhaps you’d catch it in your cap if I would help you to—
Come over and be friends with me and I’ll be friends with you.
And I won’t never tell on you, no matter what you do.
It’s awful lonesome over here and, goodness, but it’s hard
To have your mother say that you must play in your back yard.
There’s lots of daisies where I am, and butterflies as bright
As anything you ever saw, and I just saw one light;
Perhaps you’d catch it in your cap if I would help you to—
Come over and be friends with me and I’ll be friends with you.
I’m all the children we have got—I’m lonesome as can be,
I wish you wouldn’t be afraid to come and play with me.
I don’t care if your face ain’t clean or if your clothes are torn,
I didn’t have no clothes at all the time that I was born.
We got ripe apples on our trees and I will boost you so
That you can get some if you come, and when it’s time to go
We’ll fill your cap and pockets full to take home. Don’t you see
I’m willing to be friends with you if you’ll be friends with me?
I wish you wouldn’t be afraid to come and play with me.
I don’t care if your face ain’t clean or if your clothes are torn,
I didn’t have no clothes at all the time that I was born.
We got ripe apples on our trees and I will boost you so
That you can get some if you come, and when it’s time to go
We’ll fill your cap and pockets full to take home. Don’t you see
I’m willing to be friends with you if you’ll be friends with me?
I’ve got a lot of wooden toys, as fine as they can be,
But I want something that’s alive to run around with me,
And play wild Indians and bears, and if you’ll come and play
Perhaps my Mamma ’ll let me come and play with you some day.
We’ve got some dandy hollow trees, the finest anywheres,
And one of us can hide in them when we are playing bears,
And growl just like he’s awful cross, and all the time you know
It’s only make-believe, of course, but then it scares you so.
But I want something that’s alive to run around with me,
And play wild Indians and bears, and if you’ll come and play
Perhaps my Mamma ’ll let me come and play with you some day.
We’ve got some dandy hollow trees, the finest anywheres,
And one of us can hide in them when we are playing bears,
And growl just like he’s awful cross, and all the time you know
It’s only make-believe, of course, but then it scares you so.
I wish you’d come and play with me. I’ve got a jumping-jack
I’ll give you for your very own to keep when you go back,
And you can ride my v’locipede most all the afternoon
And blow some bubbles with my pipe and play with my balloon.
I’ve got an awful lot of toys and I will let you play
That they are yours as much as mine for all the time you stay,
I’m all the boys my folks have got. I’m lonesome as can be,
Come on, and I’ll be friends with you if you’ll be friends with me.
I’ll give you for your very own to keep when you go back,
And you can ride my v’locipede most all the afternoon
And blow some bubbles with my pipe and play with my balloon.
I’ve got an awful lot of toys and I will let you play
That they are yours as much as mine for all the time you stay,
I’m all the boys my folks have got. I’m lonesome as can be,
Come on, and I’ll be friends with you if you’ll be friends with me.
THE GARDEN OF PLAY
OUT in the Garden of Childhood gay
Romp three glad youngsters with merry cries,
Startling the birds with their boisterous play,
Lightheart and Laughter and big Brighteyes.
Ever you see them and hear them there,
Morning or evening or blossomy noon,
And oh, but the Garden of Youth is fair,
And oh, but the years of it pass too soon!
Romp three glad youngsters with merry cries,
Startling the birds with their boisterous play,
Lightheart and Laughter and big Brighteyes.
Ever you see them and hear them there,
Morning or evening or blossomy noon,
And oh, but the Garden of Youth is fair,
And oh, but the years of it pass too soon!
Over the Garden arch cloudless skies,
(Ah, but the skies of all Youth are blue!)
Lightheart and Laughter and big Brighteyes
Find in each nook something rare and new.
Cool is the shade of the coaxing trees,
Bidding them hide from the sun at noon,
And oh, but what glorious days are these,
And oh, but the hours of them pass too soon!
(Ah, but the skies of all Youth are blue!)
Lightheart and Laughter and big Brighteyes
Find in each nook something rare and new.
Cool is the shade of the coaxing trees,
Bidding them hide from the sun at noon,
And oh, but what glorious days are these,
And oh, but the hours of them pass too soon!
Rare is the Garden with fragrant flowers
(Ah, but the flowers of Youth are fair!)
Garlands they weave of the golden hours,
Sweet with the song of the birds in air.
Splashed all the earth with a rosy light,
Light of the sun at its splendid noon,
And oh, but the sunshine of Youth is bright,
And oh, but the light of it dies too soon!
(Ah, but the flowers of Youth are fair!)
Garlands they weave of the golden hours,
Sweet with the song of the birds in air.
Splashed all the earth with a rosy light,
Light of the sun at its splendid noon,
And oh, but the sunshine of Youth is bright,
And oh, but the light of it dies too soon!
Sweet to mine ears from the Garden gay
Echo their calls and their merry cries,
Startling the birds with their boisterous play,
Lightheart and Laughter and big Brighteyes.
Dips the red sun to its shadowed west,
These are the years of mine afternoon,
And oh, but the years of my youth were best,
And oh, but the joy of them passed too soon!
Echo their calls and their merry cries,
Startling the birds with their boisterous play,
Lightheart and Laughter and big Brighteyes.
Dips the red sun to its shadowed west,
These are the years of mine afternoon,
And oh, but the years of my youth were best,
And oh, but the joy of them passed too soon!
WE AIN’T SCARED O’ PA
US boys ain’t scared o’ Pa so much,
He only makes a noise,
An’ says he never did see such
Onmanageable boys.
But when Ma looks around I see
Just somethin’ long an’ flat
An’ always make a point to be
Some better after that.
He only makes a noise,
An’ says he never did see such
Onmanageable boys.
But when Ma looks around I see
Just somethin’ long an’ flat
An’ always make a point to be
Some better after that.
Pa promises an’ promises,
But never does a thing;
But what Ma says she does she does,
An’ when I go to bring
Her slipper or her hair brush when
She says she’ll dust my pants,
I think I could be better then
If I had one more chance.
But never does a thing;
But what Ma says she does she does,
An’ when I go to bring
Her slipper or her hair brush when
She says she’ll dust my pants,
I think I could be better then
If I had one more chance.
Pa always says nex’ time ’at he
Will have a word to say,
But Ma she is more apt to be
A-doin’ right away;
Pa turns around at us an’ glares
As fierce as he can look,
But when we’re out o’ sight, upstairs,
He goes back to his book.
Will have a word to say,
But Ma she is more apt to be
A-doin’ right away;
Pa turns around at us an’ glares
As fierce as he can look,
But when we’re out o’ sight, upstairs,
He goes back to his book.
Ma doesn’t glare as much as Pa
Or make as big a fuss,
But what she says is law is law,
And when she speaks to us
She’s lookin’ carelessly around
F’r somethin’ long an’ flat,
And when we notice it, we’re bound
To be good after that.
Or make as big a fuss,
But what she says is law is law,
And when she speaks to us
She’s lookin’ carelessly around
F’r somethin’ long an’ flat,
And when we notice it, we’re bound
To be good after that.
A PEARL OF PRICE
SHE isn’t worth a fortune and she hasn’t any stocks,
Her wealth is all in little shoes and pinafores and frocks.
In little rings of curling hair and big blue, laughing eyes,
In leaves and grass and buds and flowers and bees and butterflies.
But when she comes in tired from play and crawls upon my knee
She’s worth a hundred millions to her mother and to me.
Her wealth is all in little shoes and pinafores and frocks.
In little rings of curling hair and big blue, laughing eyes,
In leaves and grass and buds and flowers and bees and butterflies.
But when she comes in tired from play and crawls upon my knee
She’s worth a hundred millions to her mother and to me.
She sits among her dolls and toys and doesn’t seem to care
If wealth is all in rosy cheeks and locks of curly hair.
She toddles up to me and like an artful fairy clips
A coupon bearing love from off the sweetness of her lips.
And when she puts her arms around my neck and goos in glee,
She’s worth uncounted millions to her mother and to me.
If wealth is all in rosy cheeks and locks of curly hair.
She toddles up to me and like an artful fairy clips
A coupon bearing love from off the sweetness of her lips.
And when she puts her arms around my neck and goos in glee,
She’s worth uncounted millions to her mother and to me.
And when she’s in her crib at night and daintily tucked in,
The wealth of Croesus couldn’t buy the dimple in her chin,
And as she blinks her roguish eyes to play at peek-a-boo,
She chuckles me a fortune with each archly spoken goo.
And though she has no fortune, I am sure you will agree,
She’s a fortune, more than money, to her mother and to me.
The wealth of Croesus couldn’t buy the dimple in her chin,
And as she blinks her roguish eyes to play at peek-a-boo,
She chuckles me a fortune with each archly spoken goo.
And though she has no fortune, I am sure you will agree,
She’s a fortune, more than money, to her mother and to me.
DEAR LITTLE, QUEER LITTLE MAN
DEAR little, queer little man,
With his hair all a tumble of curls,
With a light in his eyes
Like the blue of the skies
When the dawn’s rosy banner unfurls!
Sweet little, fleet little man,
Who fills all the house with his toys,
Whose laugh has the truth
Of the heart of his youth:
A toast to the health of our boys!
With his hair all a tumble of curls,
With a light in his eyes
Like the blue of the skies
When the dawn’s rosy banner unfurls!
Sweet little, fleet little man,
Who fills all the house with his toys,
Whose laugh has the truth
Of the heart of his youth:
A toast to the health of our boys!
Dear little, queer little man,
With a big, paper cap on his head,
And a sword at his side
As he gets up to ride
On his hobby-horse, gaudy and red!
Play, little, gay little man;
Fill all of the house with your noise,
For, oh, it were ill
If your laughter were still!
A toast to the laughter of boys!
With a big, paper cap on his head,
And a sword at his side
As he gets up to ride
On his hobby-horse, gaudy and red!
Play, little, gay little man;
Fill all of the house with your noise,
For, oh, it were ill
If your laughter were still!
A toast to the laughter of boys!
Dear little, queer little man,
With dreams of the future to be,
When he shall grow tall
And shall care for us all,
His mother, his sister and me!
Brave little, grave little man,
With thoughts, like his youth, incomplete,
But bearing the seed
That shall blossom and lead
To manhood all gracious and sweet.
With dreams of the future to be,
When he shall grow tall
And shall care for us all,
His mother, his sister and me!
Brave little, grave little man,
With thoughts, like his youth, incomplete,
But bearing the seed
That shall blossom and lead
To manhood all gracious and sweet.
Dear little, queer little man,
Whose heart is so boyish and pure,
May the sweetness and truth
That are flowers of youth
Through all of your being endure!
Play, little, gay little man;
Fill all of the house with your noise,
For, oh, what so sweet
As the pattering feet
And the echoing laughter of boys?
Whose heart is so boyish and pure,
May the sweetness and truth
That are flowers of youth
Through all of your being endure!
Play, little, gay little man;
Fill all of the house with your noise,
For, oh, what so sweet
As the pattering feet
And the echoing laughter of boys?
GIRL OF MINE
OH, her frock is crisp and white,
And her hair is curled up tight
To her roguish little head, just like an aureole of light.
Not a heart but she could win
With the ribbon at her chin
And her cheeks that have such very little merry dimples in.
And her hair is curled up tight
To her roguish little head, just like an aureole of light.
Not a heart but she could win
With the ribbon at her chin
And her cheeks that have such very little merry dimples in.
Ah, the laughter in her eyes,
And the wonder and surprise
As she toddles through the waving grass in search of butterflies;
And the flowers nod and sway
In their love of her and say
By their homage as she passes she’s a fairer flower than they.
And the wonder and surprise
As she toddles through the waving grass in search of butterflies;
And the flowers nod and sway
In their love of her and say
By their homage as she passes she’s a fairer flower than they.
CHUMS
HE lives acrost the street from us
An’ ain’t as big as me;
His mother takes in washin’ ’cuz
They’re poor as they can be;
But every night he brings his slate
An’ ’en I do his sums,
An’ help him get his lessons straight,
’Cuz him an’ me is chums.
An’ ain’t as big as me;
His mother takes in washin’ ’cuz
They’re poor as they can be;
But every night he brings his slate
An’ ’en I do his sums,
An’ help him get his lessons straight,
’Cuz him an’ me is chums.
His clo’es ain’t quite as good as mine,
But I don’t care for that;
His mother makes his face ’ist shine,
An’ I lent him a hat.
An’ every mornin’, ’ist by rule,
W’en nine o’clock it comes,
He takes my hand an’ goes to school,
’Cuz him an’ me is chums.
But I don’t care for that;
His mother makes his face ’ist shine,
An’ I lent him a hat.
An’ every mornin’, ’ist by rule,
W’en nine o’clock it comes,
He takes my hand an’ goes to school,
’Cuz him an’ me is chums.
Nobody better plague him, too,
No matter if he’s small,
’Cuz I’m his friend, for tried and true,
An’ ’at’s th’ reason all
Th’ boys don’t dare to plague him, ’cuz
I ’ist wait till he comes,
An’ he walks close to me, he does,
’Cuz him an’ me is chums.
No matter if he’s small,
’Cuz I’m his friend, for tried and true,
An’ ’at’s th’ reason all
Th’ boys don’t dare to plague him, ’cuz
I ’ist wait till he comes,
An’ he walks close to me, he does,
’Cuz him an’ me is chums.
He fell an’ hurt hi’self one day
Th’ summer before last,
An’ ’at’s w’at makes him limp ’at way
An’ don’t grow very fast.
So w’en I get a piece of pie,
Or maybe nuts or plums,
I always give him some, ’cuz I
Get lots—an’ we are chums.
Th’ summer before last,
An’ ’at’s w’at makes him limp ’at way
An’ don’t grow very fast.
So w’en I get a piece of pie,
Or maybe nuts or plums,
I always give him some, ’cuz I
Get lots—an’ we are chums.
An’ w’en it’s nuttin’ time, we go,
An’ I climb all th’ trees,
’Cuz he can’t climb—he’s hurt, you know—
But he gets all he sees
Come droppin’ down, an’ my! he’s glad;
An’ w’en th’ twilight comes
He says w’at a fine time he had,
’Cuz him an’ me is chums.
An’ I climb all th’ trees,
’Cuz he can’t climb—he’s hurt, you know—
But he gets all he sees
Come droppin’ down, an’ my! he’s glad;
An’ w’en th’ twilight comes
He says w’at a fine time he had,
’Cuz him an’ me is chums.
THE LOST BOY
LITTLE Boy Careless has strewn his blocks
From end to end of the nursery;
He has broken the top of the gaudy box
That held sliced animals—My, Ah Me!
His wooden soldiers are seamed and scarred
From battle with him, and his jumping-jack
Is lodged half-way from a blow too hard,
Nor all of my coaxing will get him back.
From end to end of the nursery;
He has broken the top of the gaudy box
That held sliced animals—My, Ah Me!
His wooden soldiers are seamed and scarred
From battle with him, and his jumping-jack
Is lodged half-way from a blow too hard,
Nor all of my coaxing will get him back.
Little Boy Careless has split his drum
And bent the tube of his screeching fife
Till all of its martial airs are dumb,
And the doll that squeaked has lost her life
From a mallet blow on her waxen head,
And none of her sister dolls knows or cares
How the sawdust in her is strewn and spread
From the bedroom door to the hall downstairs.
And bent the tube of his screeching fife
Till all of its martial airs are dumb,
And the doll that squeaked has lost her life
From a mallet blow on her waxen head,
And none of her sister dolls knows or cares
How the sawdust in her is strewn and spread
From the bedroom door to the hall downstairs.
Little Boy Careless has gone away
And Big Boy Hopeful has come to me,
The toys that were scattered here yesterday
Are stored up there in the nursery.
The broken drum and the jumping-jack,
The waxen doll in her crib alone,
Nor Little Boy Careless will e’er come back
To scatter the toys by his years outgrown.
And Big Boy Hopeful has come to me,
The toys that were scattered here yesterday
Are stored up there in the nursery.
The broken drum and the jumping-jack,
The waxen doll in her crib alone,
Nor Little Boy Careless will e’er come back
To scatter the toys by his years outgrown.
And ah, but the heart of me aches and cries
For the Little Boy Careless to come and play,
The light of the dawn in his big, brown eyes,
With the toys that are gathered and laid away.
The Big Boy Hopeful will come to pine
For the world out there and will yearn to go,
But the Little Boy Careless was mine, all mine,
And that is the reason I loved him so!
For the Little Boy Careless to come and play,
The light of the dawn in his big, brown eyes,
With the toys that are gathered and laid away.
The Big Boy Hopeful will come to pine
For the world out there and will yearn to go,
But the Little Boy Careless was mine, all mine,
And that is the reason I loved him so!