When mother, worn out, just dropped asleep,—
Her voice melting into an angel’s song:
“I shall wait at the Gate, so don’t stay too long.”
[THE OLD FOLKS IN THE COUNTRY]
I’m a-goin’ to leave the country,—
Old folks say ’tis nice and clean,
Nothin’ like its air and sunshine
In the city’s ever seen.
Only filth and smoke and odors,