Then, too, when the work in the field was o"er, While heavier ch.o.r.es were done By older men, I trudged along, In the path of the setting sun, Calling, "Co" bos! co" bos! co" bos!"
And often the baby stars Played hide-and-seek from behind a cloud, Ere I left the pasture bars.
No more do I hear in the city"s din, (And never shall I again), The country sounds in the early morn, As I trudged a-down the lane; But I hope as I near the sunset hour, No sorrow my pathway mars, Greater than that when I called "Co" bos!"
As a boy by the pasture bars!