Sweet to mine ears from the Garden gay Echo their calls and their merry cries, Startling the birds with their boisterous play, Lightheart and Laughter and big Brighteyes. Dips the red sun to its shadowed west, These are the years of mine afternoon, And oh, but the years of my youth were best, And oh, but the joy of them passed too soon!
Us boys ain’t scared o’ Pa so much, He only makes a noise, An’ says he never did see such Onmanageable boys. But when Ma looks around I see Just somethin’ long an’ flat An’ always make a point to be Some better after that.
Pa promises an’ promises, But never does a thing; But what Ma says she does she does, An’ when I go to bring Her slipper or her hair brush when She says she’ll dust my pants, I think I could be better then If I had one more chance.
Pa always says nex’ time ’at he Will have a word to say, But Ma she is more apt to be A-doin’ right away; Pa turns around at us an’ glares As fierce as he can look, But when we’re out o’ sight, upstairs, He goes back to his book.
Ma doesn’t glare as much as Pa Or make as big a fuss, But what she says is law is law, And when she speaks to us She’s lookin’ carelessly around F’r somethin’ long an’ flat, And when we notice it, we’re bound To be good after that.
So we ain’t scairt o’ Pa at all, Although he thinks we are; But when we hear Ma come an’ call, No difference how far We are away we answer quick, An’ tell her where we’re at, When she stoops down and starts to pick Up somethin’ long an’ flat!
She isn’t worth a fortune and she hasn’t any stocks, Her wealth is all in little shoes and pinafores and frocks. In little rings of curling hair and big blue, laughing eyes, In leaves and grass and buds and flowers and bees and butterflies. But when she comes in tired from play and crawls upon my knee She’s worth a hundred millions to her mother and to me.
She sits among her dolls and toys and doesn’t seem to care If wealth is all in rosy cheeks and locks of curly hair. She toddles up to me and like an artful fairy clips A coupon bearing love from off the sweetness of her lips. And when she puts her arms around my neck and goos in glee, She’s worth uncounted millions to her mother and to me.
And when she’s in her crib at night and daintily tucked in, The wealth of Croesus couldn’t buy the dimple in her chin, And as she blinks her roguish eyes to play at peek-a-boo, She chuckles me a fortune with each archly spoken goo. And though she has no fortune, I am sure you will agree, She’s a fortune, more than money, to her mother and to me.