42
Not Understood
“Oh! you naughty boy, what ails you?
Sonny, do be quiet, pray!
Dere now, dere now, what’s the matter?”
“Mamma, Mamma, Up-a-day!”
Sonny, do be quiet, pray!
Dere now, dere now, what’s the matter?”
“Mamma, Mamma, Up-a-day!”
“Papa turn and play me sojers,
Me will shoot oo’ with my dun.”
Fierce the onslaught, papa’s vanquished;
Baby has the victory won.
Ah! the fate of war is cruel;
Baby’s gun breaks in the fray—
“Oh! my dun, my dun is broken,
“Mamma, Mamma, Up-a-day!”
Me will shoot oo’ with my dun.”
Fierce the onslaught, papa’s vanquished;
Baby has the victory won.
Ah! the fate of war is cruel;
Baby’s gun breaks in the fray—
“Oh! my dun, my dun is broken,
“Mamma, Mamma, Up-a-day!”
Babyhood is manhood’s mirror;
Toys and sorrows, smiles and tears,
Find their birth-place in the cradle,
Growing stronger with the years.
“Mother,” is our cry in spring-time;
But when Winter holds his sway,
From the depths we raise our voices
“Father, Father, Up-a-day!”
Toys and sorrows, smiles and tears,
Find their birth-place in the cradle,
Growing stronger with the years.
“Mother,” is our cry in spring-time;
But when Winter holds his sway,
From the depths we raise our voices
“Father, Father, Up-a-day!”
Onward in the march of progress,
Busy hands, and toddling feet;
Cosy cradle superseded
By the cot so snug and neat.
Mischief-making little meddler,
Wearied out at twilight gray,
Clinging to the skirts of Mamma—
“Me so tired,” then “Up-a-day!”
Busy hands, and toddling feet;
Cosy cradle superseded
By the cot so snug and neat.
Mischief-making little meddler,
Wearied out at twilight gray,
Clinging to the skirts of Mamma—
“Me so tired,” then “Up-a-day!”
Oh, the golden dreams of childhood
Oh, the visions babies see!
After they have lisped, “Our Father,”
Nodding upon Mother’s knee.
Oh, the visions babies see!
After they have lisped, “Our Father,”
Nodding upon Mother’s knee.
