  With big tin trumpet and little red drum, Marching like soldiers, the children come! It’s this way and that way they circle and file— My! but that music of theirs is fine! This way and that way, and after a while They march straight into this heart of mine! A sturdy old heart, but it has to succumb To the blare of that trumpet and beat of that drum! Come on, little people, from cot and from hall— This heart it hath welcome and room for you all! It will sing you its songs and warm you with love, As your dear little arms with my arms intertwine; It will rock you away to the dreamland above— Oh, a jolly old heart is this old heart of mine, And jollier still is it bound to become When you blow that big trumpet and beat that red drum! So come; though I see not his dear little face And hear not his voice in this jubilant place, I know he were happy to bid me enshrine His memory deep in my heart with your play— Ah me! but a love that is sweeter than mine Holdeth my boy in its keeping to-day! And my heart it is lonely—so, little folk, come, March in and make merry with trumpet and drum! EUGENE FIELD. Chicago, September 13, 1892. WITH TRUMPET AND DRUM |
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