Picnic-time
It’s June ag’in, an’ in my soul I feel the fillin’ joy That’s sure to come this time o’ year to every little boy; For, every June, the Sunday-schools at picnics may be seen,
The wanderer
Upon a mountain height, far from the sea, I found a shell, And to my listening ear the lonely thing Ever a song of ocean seemed to sing, Ever a tale of ocean seemed
Christmas treasures
I count my treasures o’er with care. The little toy my darling knew, A little sock of faded hue, A little lock of golden hair. Long years ago this holy time, My little one
Prof. vere de blaw
Achievin’ sech distinction with his moddel tabble dote Ez to make his Red Hoss Mountain restauraw a place uv note, Our old friend Casey innovated somewhat round the place, In hopes he would ameliorate
The Death of Robin Hood
“Give me my bow,” said Robin Hood, “An arrow give to me; And where ‘t is shot mark thou that spot, For there my grave shall be.” Then Little John did make no sign,
The night wind
Have you ever heard the wind go “Yooooo”? ‘T is a pitiful sound to hear! It seems to chill you through and through With a strange and speechless fear. ‘T is the voice of
The Truth About hHorace
It is very aggravating To hear the solemn prating Of the fossils who are stating That old Horace was a prude; When we know that with the ladies He was always raising Hades, And
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
To cinna
Cinna, the great Venusian told In songs that will not die How in Augustan days of old Your love did glorify His life and all his being seemed Thrilled by that rare incense Till,
To a soubrette
‘Tis years, soubrette, since last we met; And yet ah, yet, how swift and tender My thoughts go back in time’s dull track To you, sweet pink of female gender! I shall not say
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe, Sailed on a river of crystal light Into a sea of dew. “Where are you going, and what do you wish?” The
The fly-away horse
Oh, a wonderful horse is the Fly-Away Horse – Perhaps you have seen him before; Perhaps, while you slept, his shadow has swept Through the moonlight that floats on the floor. For it’s only
Mary smith
Away down East where I was reared amongst my Yankee kith, There used to live a pretty girl whose name was Mary Smith; And though it’s many years since last I saw that pretty
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
The Dinkey Bird
In an ocean, ‘way out yonder, (As all sapient people know) Is the land of Wonder-Wander, Whither children love to go; It’s their playing, romping, swinging, That give great joy to me While the