A SONG.
I HEAR a Song
I think ’tis a thrush’s.
He sings to the Wild Rose
See how she blushes!
The Evening Hour.
NEARLY BEDTIME.
ONLY half an hour or so
Before nurse calls them to bed,
And the ruddy light of a cheerful fire
Shines over each curly head.
No trouble have they, no sorrow—
Their hearts are lighter than air,
No fear that a dark to-morrow
May bring with it want or care.