Some to the songs from the forest bough,
To the rustling of leaves at the lattice pane,
To the chiming fall of the early rain.
And some, far out on the deep mid-sea,
To the dash of the waves in their foaming glee,
As they break into spray on the ship’s tall side,
That holds through the tumult her path of pride.
And some—oh, well may their hearts rejoice!—
To the gentle sound of a mother’s voice:
Long shall they yearn for that kindly tone,