And my heart leaps gayly upward, like the foam upon the sea,
  As I watch the breakers tumbling with a roar,
And the ships that dot the azure seem to wave a hail to me,
  And to beckon to a wondrous, far-off shore.

* * * * *

Just a simple little picture, yet its charm is o’er me still,
  And again my boyish spirit seems to glow,
And once more a barefoot urchin am I wandering at will
  Down that little country road I used to know.

* * * * *

[Illustration]

THE BULLFROG SERENADE

  When the toil of day is over
  And the dew is on the clover,
And the night-hawk whirls in circles overhead;
  When the cow-bells melt and mingle
  In a softened, silver jingle,
And the old hen calls the chickens in to bed;
  When the marshy meadows glimmer
  With a misty, purple shimmer,
And the twilight flush is changing into shade;
  When the firefly lamps are burning
  And the dusk to dark is turning,—­
Then the bullfrogs chant their evening serenade: 

“Deep-deep, deep-deep, deep-deep, deep-deep! 
Better go ’round! Better go ’round! Better go ’round,”

  First the little chaps begin it,
  Raise their high-pitched voices in it,
And the shrill soprano piping sets the pace;
  Then the others join the singing
  Till the echoes soon are ringing
With the big green-coated leader’s double-bass. 
  All the lilies are a-quiver,
  And the grasses by the river
Feel the mighty chorus shaking every blade,
  While the dewy rushes glisten
  As they bend their heads to listen
To the bullfrogs’ summer evening serenade: 

“Deep-deep, deep-deep, deep-deep, deep-deep! 
Better go ’round! Better go ’round! Better go ’round!"

  And the melody they’re tuning
  Has the sweet and sleepy crooning
That the mother hums the baby at her breast,
  Till the world forgets its sorrow
  And the cares that haunt the morrow,
And is sinking, hushed and happy, to its rest
  Sometimes bubbling o’er with gladness,
  Sometimes soft and fall of sadness,
Through my dreaming rings the music they have played,
  And my memory’s dearest treasures
  Have been fitted to the measures
Of the bullfrogs’ summer evening serenade: 

“Deep-deep, deep-deep, deep-deep, deep-deep! 
Better go ’round! Better go ’round! Better go ’round!"

* * * * *

SUNDAY AFTERNOONS

From the window of the chapel softly sounds an organ’s note, Through the wintry Sabbath gloaming drifting shreds of music float, And the quiet and the firelight and the sweetly solemn tunes Bear me, dreaming, back to boyhood and its Sunday afternoons: