SONGS OF INNOCENCE.
GOLF IN SPRINGTIME.
Merry little baa-lambs sporting on the grass,
Playing ring-a-roses, dancing as you pass,
Crying,
"Jones has topped his brassie shot! What a way to play!
Now then, all together, boys—Me-e-eh!"
Pretty little woollies, white as driven snow,
Following your mothers, skipping as you go,
Crying,