  “MAKE us a song, then, mother dear! Sweet to think of, and sweet to sing,” Said the little daughter and the little son; Their lips were gay, and their eyes were clear— “And let the song be an easy one, Sweet to think of, and sweet to sing.” “Sweet to think of, and sweet to hear? How shall I make it, children dear? The night is falling, the winds are rough; What will you give me to make it of?” “No, mother dear, the winds are soft, And the sky is blue and clear aloft, And oh! we can give you things enough To make the beautiful music of. “WE will give you the morning and afternoon, We will give you the sun, and a white full moon; You shall have all our prettiest toys, And fields and flowers, and girls and boys. “We will give you a bird, and a ship at sea, And a golden cloud, and an almond-tree, A picture gay, a river that runs, A chime of bells, and hot cross-buns. “You may have roses and rubies rare, And silks and satins beyond compare, A sceptre and crown, a queen, a king, And beautiful dreams, and everything! We will give you all that we think or know— The song will be sweet if you make it so.” Then the mother smiled as she began To make the music, and sweet it ran, And easy enough, for a strain or two; And the children said, “Mother, the song will do!” But soon the melody ran less clear; There came a pause, and a wandering tear, And a thought that went back many a year; And the children fancied the music long, And asked, “What have you put into the song That we did not tell you, mother dear?” |
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