OWN the quiet village street,
The pedlar takes his way,
His old top hat, and long black coat,
Have weathered many a day.
Before an open door he stays,
With cheery word and smile,
Where mother, with her babe in arms,
Is standing for a while.
A little lass is by her side,
Her eyes with longing bright,
For see, the pedlar has displayed
A lamb, all soft and white!
Ah, well he knows, the wise old man,
The way his wares to ply,
For Mother, moved by childish plea,
Is tempted soon to buy.
He next admires the bonny babe,
His pretty curls of gold,
And after bargaining awhile,
Another toy is sold!
His sunny smile and pleasant words
Beguile both old and young,
Whatever else the pedlar lacks,
He has a winning tongue.