WHEN THE HAMMOCK SWINGS.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VII, Issue 2, 10 January 1891, Page 3

WHEN THE HAMMOCK SWINGS.

The day’s work is ended, all cares are forgot, And home to my dearie and baby I go, And in the soft mesh of my slow swaying cot, I find sweetest rest as I swing to and fro. There in the tw-ilight under the trees, Hither and thither I sway in the breeze. Swing-swong, swingity-swo, That is the song my hammock sings low. Up again, down again, gently I go, Swing-swong, swingity-swo. There high on my bosom, an amber haired sprite, Sits baby, her tiny face shimmered with glee, Her pink little hands clap their fondest delight, While hammock is swinging so restful and free. There in the twilight under the trees, Hither and thither we sway in the breeze. Swing-swong, swingity-swo, That is the song my hammock sings low, Up again, down again, gently we go, Swing-swong, swingity-swo. The birds in the branches above where we swing, With throats full of music and melody sweet, Catch up the refrain of the rust in the ring, And add to the cadence their twittery-tweet. There in the twilight under the trees, Hither and thither we sway in the breeze. Swing swong, swingity-swo, That is the song my hammock sings low. Up again, down again, gently we go, Swing-swong, swingity-swo. The dear little mother with heart full of pride, And joyous love light in her beautiful face, Sits there in her rocker not far front my side, And sings, as her hand gives the hammock its pace, There in the twilight under the trees, Hither and thither I sway in the breeze. Swing swong, swingity-swo. That is the song my hammock sings low. Up again, down again, gently we go, Swing-swong, swingity swo. As there in the gloaming I blissfully swing, With both of my darlings so close by my side, My fancy on beauty of pinions takes wing, And into fair dreamland I peacefully ride; Swinging with baby, sweetly I dream, In the sott twilight’s lingering gleanr. Swing-swong, swingity-swo. That is the song my hammock sings low. Up again, down again, gently we go, Swing-swong, swingity-swo. Ah, none of the day dreams that come as I glide. Can equal the visum there under the trees. With both of my darlings so close by my side, And swinging so slow in the cool of the breeze. There in the twilight taking our ease, Swinging the hammock under the trees, Swing-swong, swingity-swo, That is the song we hear as we go. Cadence unerring so gentle and slow, Swing-swong, swingity-swo.