  THERE’S a looking-glass, a hammer, Some toys all broken up, There’s pebbles, and glass, and sawdust, And papa’s shaving cup; A little cart with the wheels off, A horse that’s lost an eye, A kitten tied to a chair-leg That’s looking scared and shy. “Ah me!” the busy mother sighs, I’m tired off my feet, I really wish he were grown up So I could keep things neat! He catches her reproving eye And is inclined for play, So dons his bonnet wrong, and cries “Bye, baby’s goin’ away!” The mother holds her darling close— A culprit, cute and small— For wild disorder reigning there She does not care at all. But, spendthrift with a mother’s love, Puts kisses on his lips, And on the cheeks so warm and red, On neck, and finger-tips. Perhaps she thinks of coming years, When in no childish play Her boy shall bid her a good-bye, Her baby go away, To walk without her tender care To shelter every move, To stand without his hand in hers— Away from home and love. “I loves you bestest in the world!” He lisps with pretty wiles, “Thank God he’s but a baby yet!” The mother says, and smiles. [Decorative image unavailable.] |
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