A CANARY AT THE FARM

Folks has be’n to town, and Sahry
Fetched ’er home a pet canary,—­
And of all the blame’, contrary,
    Aggervatin’ things alive! 
I love music—­that’s I love it
When it’s free—­and plenty of it;—­
But I kindo’ git above it,
    At a dollar-eighty-five!

Reason’s plain as I’m a—­sayin’,—­
Jes’ the idy, now, o’ layin’
Out yer money, and a-payin’
    Fer a wilder-cage and bird,
When the medder-larks is wingin’
Round you, and the woods is ringin’
With the beautifullest singin’
    That a mortal ever heard!

Sahry’s sot, tho’.—­So I tell her
He’s a purty little feller,
With his wings o’ creamy-yeller,
    And his eyes keen as a cat;
And the twitter o’ the critter
Tears to absolutely glitter! 
Guess I’ll haf to go and git her
    A high-priceter cage ’n that!

WHERE THE CHILDREN USED TO PLAY

The old farm-home is Mother’s yet and mine,
   And filled it is with plenty and to spare,—­
But we are lonely here in life’s decline,
   Though fortune smiles around us everywhere: 
        We look across the gold
        Of the harvests, as of old—­
   The corn, the fragrant clover, and the hay
        But most we turn our gaze,
        As with eyes of other days,
   To the orchard where the children used to play.

O from our life’s full measure
And rich hoard of worldly treasure
    We often turn our weary eyes away,
And hand in hand we wander
Down the old path winding yonder
   To the orchard where the children used to play

Our sloping pasture-lands are filled with herds;
   The barn and granary-bins are bulging o’er: 
The grove’s a paradise of singing birds-
   The woodland brook leaps laughing by the door
        Yet lonely, lonely still,
        Let us prosper as we will,
   Our old hearts seem so empty everyway—­
        We can only through a mist
        See the faces we have kissed
   In the orchard where the children used to play.

O from our life’s full measure
And rich hoard of worldly treasure
   We often turn our weary eyes away,
And hand in hand we wander
Down the old path winding yonder
   To the orchard where the children used to play.

GRIGGSBY’S STATION

Pap’s got his pattent-right, and rich as all creation;
  But where’s the peace and comfort that we all had
       before? 
Le’s go a-visitin’ back to Griggsby’s Station—­
  Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore!

The likes of us a-livin’ here!  It’s jest a mortal pity
  To see us in this great big house, with cyarpets on the
       stairs,
And the pump right in the kitchen!  And the city! city!
       city!—­
  And nothin’ but the city all around us ever’wheres!