Love-Songs of Childhood Part 7

Bein' I'm a boy, I duck my head an' hold my breath; An' I am, oh! so sorry I'm a naughty boy, an' then I promise to be better an' I say my prayers again!

Gran'ma tells me that's the only way to make it right When a feller has been wicked an' sees things at night!

An' so, when other naughty boys would coax me into sin, I try to skwush the Tempter's voice 'at urges me within; An' when they's pie for supper, or cakes 'at 's big an' nice, I want to--but I do not pa.s.s my plate f'r them things twice!

No, ruther let Starvation wipe me slowly out o' sight Than I should keep a-livin' on an' seein' things at night!

THE CUNNIN' LITTLE THING

When baby wakes of mornings, Then it's wake, ye people all!

For another day Of song and play Has come at our darling's call!

And, till she gets her dinner, She makes the welkin ring, And she won't keep still till she's had her fill-- The cunnin' little thing!

When baby goes a-walking, Oh, how her paddies fly!

For that's the way The babies say To other folk "by-by"; The trees bend down to kiss her, And the birds in rapture sing, As there she stands and waves her hands-- The cunnin' little thing!

When baby goes a-rocking In her bed at close of day, At hide-and-seek On her dainty cheek The dreams and the dimples play; Then it's sleep in the tender kisses The guardian angels bring From the Far Above to my sweetest love-- You cunnin' little thing!

THE DOLL'S WOOING

The little French doll was a dear little doll Tricked out in the sweetest of dresses; Her eyes were of hue A most delicate blue And dark as the night were her tresses; Her dear little mouth was fluted and red, And this little French doll was so very well bred That whenever accosted her little mouth said "Mamma! mamma!"

The stockinet doll, with one arm and one leg, Had once been a handsome young fellow; But now he appeared Rather frowzy and bleared In his torn regimentals of yellow; Yet his heart gave a curious thump as he lay In the little toy cart near the window one day And heard the sweet voice of that French dolly say: "Mamma! mamma!"

He listened so long and he listened so hard That anon he grew ever so tender, For it's everywhere known That the feminine tone Gets away with all masculine gender!

He up and he wooed her with soldierly zest But all she'd reply to the love he professed Were these plaintive words (which perhaps you have guessed): "Mamma! mamma!"

Her mother--a sweet little lady of five-- Vouchsafed her parental protection, And although stockinet Wasn't blue-blooded, yet She really could make no objection!

So soldier and dolly were wedded one day, And a moment ago, as I journeyed that way, I'm sure that I heard a wee baby voice say: "Mamma! mamma!"

INSCRIPTION FOR MY LITTLE SON'S SILVER PLATE

When thou dost eat from off this plate, I charge thee be thou temperate; Unto thine elders at the board Do thou sweet reverence accord; And, though to dignity inclined, Unto the serving-folk be kind; Be ever mindful of the poor, Nor turn them hungry from the door; And unto G.o.d, for health and food And all that in thy life is good, Give thou thy heart in grat.i.tude.

FISHERMAN JIM'S KIDS

Fisherman Jim lived on the hill With his bonnie wife an' his little boys; 'T wuz "Blow, ye winds, as blow ye will-- Naught we reck of your cold and noise!"

For happy and warm were he an' his, And he dandled his kids upon his knee To the song of the sea.

Fisherman Jim would sail all day, But, when come night, upon the sands His little kids ran from their play, Callin' to him an' wavin' their hands; Though the wind was fresh and the sea was high, He'd hear'em--you bet--above the roar Of the waves on the sh.o.r.e!

Once Fisherman Jim sailed into the bay As the sun went down in a cloudy sky, And never a kid saw he at play, And he listened in vain for the welcoming cry.

In his little house he learned it all, And he clinched his hands and he bowed his head-- "The fever!" they said.

'T wuz a pitiful time for Fisherman Jim, With them darlin's a-dyin' afore his eyes, A-stretchin' their wee hands out to him An' a-breakin' his heart with the old-time cries He had heerd so often upon the sands; For they thought they wuz helpin' his boat ash.o.r.e-- Till they spoke no more.

But Fisherman Jim lived on and on, Castin' his nets an' sailin' the sea; As a man will live when his heart is gone, Fisherman Jim lived hopelessly, Till once in those years they come an' said: "Old Fisherman Jim is powerful sick-- Go to him, quick!"

Then Fisherman Jim says he to me: "It's a long, long cruise-you understand-- But over beyont the ragin' sea I kin see my boys on the s.h.i.+nin' sand Waitin' to help this ol' hulk ash.o.r.e, Just as they used to--ah, mate, you know!-- In the long ago."

No, sir! he wuzn't afeard to die; For all night long he seemed to see His little boys of the days gone by, An' to hear sweet voices forgot by me!

An' just as the mornin' sun come up-- "They're holdin' me by the hands!" he cried, An' so he died.

"FIDDLE-DEE-DEE"

There once was a bird that lived up in a tree, And all he could whistle was "Fiddle-dee-dee"-- A very provoking, unmusical song For one to be whistling the summer day long!

Yet always contented and busy was he With that vocal recurrence of "Fiddle-dee-dee."

Hard by lived a brave little soldier of four, That weird iteration repented him sore; "I prithee, Dear-Mother-Mine! fetch me my gun, For, by our St. Didy! the deed must be done That shall presently rid all creation and me Of that ominous bird and his 'Fiddle-dee-dee'!"

Then out came Dear-Mother-Mine, bringing her son His awfully truculent little red gun; The stock was of pine and the barrel of tin, The "bang" it came out where the bullet went in-- The right kind of weapon I think you'll agree For slaying all fowl that go "Fiddle-dee-dee"!

The brave little soldier quoth never a word, But he up and he drew a straight bead on that bird; And, while that vain creature provokingly sang, The gun it went off with a terrible bang!

Then loud laughed the youth--"By my Bottle," cried he, "I've put a quietus on 'Fiddle-dee-dee'!"

Out came then Dear-Mother-Mine, saying: "My son, Right well have you wrought with your little red gun!

Hereafter no evil at all need I fear, With such a brave soldier as You-My-Love here!"

She kissed the dear boy.

(The bird in the tree Continued to whistle his "Fiddle-dee-dee")

OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY

Over the hills and far away, A little boy steals from his morning play And under the blossoming apple-tree He lies and he dreams of the things to be: Of battles fought and of victories won, Of wrongs o'erthrown and of great deeds done-- Of the valor that he shall prove some day, Over the hills and far away-- Over the hills, and far away!

Over the hills and far away It's, oh, for the toil the livelong day!

But it mattereth not to the soul aflame With a love for riches and power and fame!

On, O man! while the sun is high-- On to the certain joys that lie Yonder where blazeth the noon of day, Over the hills and far away-- Over the hills, and far away!

Over the hills and far away, An old man lingers at close of day; Now that his journey is almost done, His battles fought and his victories won-- The old-time honesty and truth, The trustfulness and the friends of youth, Home and mother-where are they?

Over the hills and far away-- Over the years, and far away!