  THERE’s a dear little home in Good-Children street— My heart turneth fondly to-day Where tinkle of tongues and patter of feet Make sweetest of music at play; Where the sunshine of love illumines each face And warms every heart in that old-fashioned place. For dear little children go romping about [Image unavailable] With dollies and tin tops and drums, And, my! how they frolic and scamper and shout Till bedtime too speedily comes! Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleet With little folk living in Good-Children street. See, here comes an army with guns painted red, And swords, caps, and plumes of all sorts; The captain rides gaily and proudly ahead On a stick-horse that prances and snorts! Oh, legions of soldiers you’re certain to meet— Nice make-believe soldiers—in Good-Children street. And yonder Odette wheels her dolly about— Poor dolly! I’m sure she is ill, For one of her blue china eyes has dropped out And her voice is asthmatic’ly shrill. Then, too, I observe she is minus her feet, Which causes much sorrow in Good-Children street. ’Tis so the dear children go romping about With dollies and banners and drums, And I venture to say they are sadly put out Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleet With little folk living in Good-Children street! |
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