AT THE SIGN OF THE LYRE.

New Zealand Mail, 15 February 1900, Page 30

AT THE SIGN OF THE LYRE.

I VUNDER VY?

Ven I come home py nighd dimes, vet, U nd sid down py a chair, Und small vee leedle hants dev make Some pullings mit my hair; Und-ven. a woice midouid some vords To my woice has replied, I- vender vy my face- id makes A smile yust fenpf feets vide ?

Ven vee snfall leedle hants dey grasp My vedder-beaden nose, TTmT dare is kickings from a lod Uf leedle pink-vite toes; Und leedle. eyes dey blink ad me, Und say*- rc Acli! I know you I vim den vy I ged some smiles Dot breaks my face in two?

Ven leedle eyes are closed in sleeb, • Und his vee chuppy hant It holts my finger tight so he Feels safe in fairylant, I. vunder vy from ouid my eyes I brash avay der tears, Und ask dei* goot Lord, "Uf you blease, Be kind through all der years!” —"Baltimore American.”

MY FATHER’S DINNER PAIL. I found it in the attic in a corner dark and dim, Twas dinted on the cover, and ’twas broken on the rim, Yet it thrilled my heart with pleasure as 1 took it from the nail, That simple link of girlhood’s days, mv father s dinner pail. It was dusty, it was rusty, it was broken on the rim, Aet it thrilled me for the moment with sweet memories of him, Of the bloom upon the orchards, and. the fragrance in the gale, As I walked through shining meadows, with my father’s dinner pail.

1 can see the garden, pansies and the sunflowers by the wall, And through the woodbine covered porch, I hear my mother call, Come, Janey, quick, put on vour hat; there comes old Father Kail; lon re none too soon; come in, my dear and take the dinner pail!”

I puss beside the woodland where the tender violets grow, And through the pleasant meadows where the honey-suclde blow, Across the bridge, along the brook, and through the broken rail, Where some one waits to help me with my tatlier s dinner pail.

* ca ? v 2 iear iV wild . birds singing and the - drone of humming bees, And the voices of my children playing neath the shady trees. “

Yet memory comes crowding like a D W • ant fairy tale i jp And once more I trip through meadoW* I with my father s dinner pail. 8 • --'•Portland Transcript." ———— — : ‘ ’