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Little we fear
Weather without,
Sheltered about
The mahogany-tree.

Once on the boughs
Birds of rare plume
Sang, in its bloom;
Night-birds are we;
Here we carouse,
Singing, like them,
Perched round the stem
Of the jolly old tree.

Here let us sport,
Boys, as we sit,
Laughter and wit
Flashing so free.
Life is but short, -
When we are gone,
Let them sing on,
Round the old tree.

Evenings we knew, Happy as this; Faces we miss, Pleasant to see. Kind hearts and true, Gentle and just, Peace to your dust! We sing round the tree.

Care, like a dun,
Lurks at the gate:
Let the dog wait;
Happy we'll be!
Drink, every one;
Pile up the coals;
Fill the red bowls,
Round the old tree!

Drain we the cup.
Friend, art afraid?
Spirits are laid
In the Red Sea.
Mantle it up;
Empty it yet;
Let us forget,
Round the old tree!

Sorrows, begone!
Life and its ills,
Duns and their bills,
Bid we to flee.
Come with the dawn,
Blue-devil sprite;
Leave us to-night,
Round the old tree!



From the wave-washed strand of the Golden Land

To the shores of the Eastern sea;
From the mountains that fringe the frozen North

To the Southland's flowery lea,
Comes the tramp of feet to the drummer's beat,

And the fife with its martial lay,
For the soldier boys are marching again,

To keep Memorial Day.

They were heroes all when the trumpet's call

Was heard in the days gone by;
For their hearts were brave and their hearts were true,

When they heard their country's cry.
But now, as they come to the fife and drum,

'Tis a loving tribute to pay,
And a path of flowers for these heroes of ours

Is spread on Memorial Day.

For the Stripes and Stars and the gleaming bars

To a nation of peace belong,
And a friendly cheer is all they hear,

Or the children's voices in song.
The weapons are rusted and silent now

That once they used in the fray;
They have only to bear the flowers fair,

As they march on Memorial Day.

The ranks grow thinner, the marchers few,
And to-day the grasses grow

On many a mound that was not found

But one short year ago.
Whether they sleep the dreamless sleep,

Or a little longer stay,
We'll never forget the boundless debt

The nation can never pay.

Let Northern blossoms and Southern blooms

Their tendrils intertwine:
A token of


And love hath made divine.
And whether the heroes wore the blue,

whether they wore the gray, We own them ours and scatter the flowers

For all, on Memorial Day.



I wonder what she's dreaming 'bout,

’Long some time in the night, When of a sudden she laughs out

In infantile delight.
I guess some angel from above,

Swift winging to and fro,
Doth pause to whisper to my love

Such words as babies know.

And when she laughs I guess he flies

Straight where God's hosts rejoice, And bears beyond the bending skies The music of her voice. »

Then, through the mighty anthem's swell

Her laughter striketh clear, Sweeter than tone of any bell,

And angels pause to hear.

For what hath Heaven compared with this:

The laughter of a child,
Who still the note of pain doth miss,

By dreams of night beguiled ?
There beat so many voices here

Of anguish and despair,
What wonder if they hold it dear,

The laugh that hides no care ?

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So when my baby's laugh rings out,

I watch her fleeting smile,
And say, “Some angel is about,'

And listen for a while
To try to catch the whisper, too,

In vain, in vain I try;
For angels heed what babies do,

their elders by.



Last night I lay a sleeping,
There came a dream so fair,
I stood in old Jerusalem
Beside the temple there.
I heard the children singing,

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