Downy pillows, sheets o'erspread;
And mother breathes a silent prayer,
O'er that little trundle bed.
And mother breathes a silent prayer,
O'er that little trundle bed.
Refrain
Sleep, my little babies, sleep;
Mother will her vigil keep.
My darlings, ne'er fear, whilst mother is near;
Sleep, my little darlings, sleep!
Mother will her vigil keep.
My darlings, ne'er fear, whilst mother is near;
Sleep, my little darlings, sleep!
1922.
Happy Childhood
See the gay schoolboy chase the butterflies,
As from the muddy pool in fright they rise;
Behold his hat of straw and naked feet,
His shiny dinner-pail and schoolbooks neat.
He o'er the fence a dandelion sees;
Through hole in wall he grasps the prize with ease.
With lip and tongue he curls the tender stalks,
And hangs them 'neath his hat-brim as he walks.
He tramps the fields and wooded hills remote
To seek for flowers where summer zephyrs float;
He trips beside the pearly meadow brooks,
Where cowslips grow in countless grassy nooks.
Oh, happy childhood! Ever may it be
That naught but silvery clouds are turned to thee:
Our paths have thorns and pitfalls not a few;
May thine, instead, hold flowers of richest hue.
Too soon thy childish footsteps turn away,
And raven locks at length are touched with gray:
But new young voices come to cheer the air,
And lull at eve the weary parents' care!
As from the muddy pool in fright they rise;
Behold his hat of straw and naked feet,
His shiny dinner-pail and schoolbooks neat.
He o'er the fence a dandelion sees;
Through hole in wall he grasps the prize with ease.
With lip and tongue he curls the tender stalks,
And hangs them 'neath his hat-brim as he walks.
He tramps the fields and wooded hills remote
To seek for flowers where summer zephyrs float;
He trips beside the pearly meadow brooks,
Where cowslips grow in countless grassy nooks.
Oh, happy childhood! Ever may it be
That naught but silvery clouds are turned to thee:
Our paths have thorns and pitfalls not a few;
May thine, instead, hold flowers of richest hue.
Too soon thy childish footsteps turn away,
And raven locks at length are touched with gray:
But new young voices come to cheer the air,
And lull at eve the weary parents' care!
1917
Our Camp-Fire Girls
Alas, how swiftly years have flown!
From babyhood how swiftly grown;
Pink ribbons deck blithe, curly hair,
And romping, clattering everywhere,
O happy children, innocent, free,
As little birds in leafy tree;
Hear their shrill laughter on the green,
Each artless nymph a little queen.
From babyhood how swiftly grown;
Pink ribbons deck blithe, curly hair,
And romping, clattering everywhere,
O happy children, innocent, free,
As little birds in leafy tree;
Hear their shrill laughter on the green,
Each artless nymph a little queen.
Our Campfire Girls in Greenwich High,
Can hit the buckskin on the fly;
Can kick a pigskin o'er the goal,
Or send a hard-head down the Bowl;
From spring-board turn a handspring fine,
Or cast a fly with rod and line.
Can swim or dive in Hedge's Lake,
With oar and paddle progress make;
Down the Pavilion dance a jig,
Or whirl in waltz with small or big;
Can run an auto with one hand,
Can hit the buckskin on the fly;
Can kick a pigskin o'er the goal,
Or send a hard-head down the Bowl;
From spring-board turn a handspring fine,
Or cast a fly with rod and line.
Can swim or dive in Hedge's Lake,
With oar and paddle progress make;
Down the Pavilion dance a jig,
Or whirl in waltz with small or big;
Can run an auto with one hand,
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