And he did not squelch the child,
But lay it down in its little cot,
And rocked the same—and smiled!
Talk soft! They say the angels
That night smole down on Bob;
And a sorter radiant halo
Gleamed brightly round his nob.
I can’t swear to all this for certain,
And it do seem a queerish start;
But I won’t set by and hear none o’ you say