  I know a little bright-eyed boy Who lives not far away, And though he is his mother’s joy, He plagues her, too, they say. For when his task he’s bid to do, He sits him down and cries, “Boo-hoo! I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! I can’t!” Yes! whether he’s to practise well, Or do his horrid sums, Or “Hippopotamus” to spell, Or clean to wash his thumbs: It matters not, for with a frown The corners of his mouth go down,— “I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! I can’t!” Oh! what a joyful day ’twill be For mother and for son, When smiling looks they both shall see Beneath the smiling sun. For in his heart he knows ’tis stuff, And knows that if he tries enough, He can! he can! he can! he can! he can! |
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