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She sees her dear mother, and hears the sweet voice, Whose fond, tender tones made her young heart rejoice, She climbs to the arms ever patient to bear The wee, tired toddler, and all burdens share. How well she recalls the sweet hour of rest, When nestling her head on that dear mother's breast, She sank into slumber, lulled gently and low, By the strains of the soft old-time lullaby—O! Again does she listen to every fond word That love on the lips of the singer hath stirred; The "By-oh, my baby!" which mother knows best, Will comfort and soothe the young child to its rest. And Grandma forgets the deep lines on her face, Which tell of the years—the years long flown apace; She does not remember that Time has left snow On the head that was golden so long, long ago. |
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She is only a child as she listens to-night— With a sense of the old childish rest and delight— To the voice of the mother who so long ago Sat singing to her in the firelight's glow— But childhood is merged into girlhood at last, (The sweet years of "baby-life" vanish so fast!) And Grandma's a maiden, so dainty and fair, Of girlhood's bright visions content with her share. How merrily now glide the hours away! And yet, as comes oft on a fair Summer's day, A cloud that o'ershadows its fairness, e'en so To Grandma's girl-life now and then comes some woe |
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To grieve and to wound it, and hide from blue eves The still deeper blue of the beautiful skies; And how many times, just for comfort and rest, The young head is lain upon mother's dear breast! And tho' she's no longer the "baby," yet see, The mother's arms clasp her all pityingly, And turning once more to the "lullaby—O!" She sings to her girl all so sweetly and low, The nursery melody known the world o'er, As she soothes, pets and comforts the young heart so sore. Yes, Grandma is only a young girl to-night, As she muses alone in the dim firelight. |