A cloud of cinder-dotted smoke, whose billows rise and swell
A solemn Sabbath stillness lies along the Mudville lanes
A stretch of hill and valley, swathed thick in robes of white
Almost every other evenin", jest as reg"lar as the clock
"Blessed are the poor in spirit": there, I"ll just remember that
Climb to my knee, little boy, little boy,--
For years I"ve seen the frothy lines go thund"rin" down the sh.o.r.e
From the window of the chapel softly sounds an organ"s note
Grandfather"s "summer sweets" are ripe
He ain"t no gold-laced "Belvidere"
Hey, you swelled-up turkey feller!
Home from college came the stripling, calm and cool and debonair
I hain"t no great detective, like yer read about,--the kind
I never was naturally vicious;
I remember, when a youngster, all the happy hours I spent
I s"pose I hain"t progressive, but I swan, it seems ter me
I"ll write, for I"m witty, a popular ditty
I"m pretty nearly certain that "t was "bout two weeks ago,--
I"ve got a little yaller dog, a wuthless kind of chap
In Mother"s room still stands the chair
In the gleam and gloom of the April weather
It"s a wonderful world we"re in, my dear
It"s alone in the dark of the old wagon-shed
It"s getting on ter winter now, the nights are crisp and chill
It stands at the bend where the road has its end
Jason White has come ter town
Just a simple little picture of a sunny country road
Kind er _like_ a stormy day, take it all together,--
Little bare feet, sunburned and brown,
Little foot, whose lightest pat
Me and Billy"s in the woodshed; Ma said, "Run out-doors and play;
My dream-ship"s decks are of beaten gold
My sister"s best feller is "most six-foot-three
My son Hezekiah"s a painter; yes, that"s the purfession he"s at;
Now Councilman O"Hoolihan do"n"t b"lave in annixation
O, it"s Christmas Eve, and moonlight, and the Christmas air is chill
O you boys grown gray and bearded, you that used ter chum with me
Oh, the cool September mornin"s! now they "re with us once agin
Oh, the Friday evening meetings in the vestry, long ago
Oh! the horns are all a-tootin" as we rattle through the town
Oh, the song of the Sea--
Oh, the story-book boy! he"s a wonderful youth
Oh, the wild November wind
Oh! they"ve swept the parlor carpet, and they"ve dusted every chair
Oh, those sweet old-fashioned posies, that were mother"s pride and joy
Old Dan"l Hanks he says this town
On a log behind the pigsty of a modest little farm
Once, by the edge of a pleasant pool
Our Aunt "Mandy thinks that boys
Our Sary Emma is possessed ter be at somethin" queer;