Good-Children Street

There's a dear little home in Good-Children street—

My heart turneth fondly to-day

Where tinkle of tongues and patter of feet

Make sweetest of music at play;

Where the sunshine of love illumines each face

And warms every heart in that old-fashioned place.

For dear little children go romping about

With dollies and tin tops and drums,

And, my! how they frolic and scamper and shout

Till bedtime too speedily comes

Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleet

With little folk living in Good-Children street.

See, here comes an army with guns painted red,

And swords, caps, and plumes of all sorts;

The captain rides gaily and proudly ahead

On a stick-horse that prances and snorts!

Oh, legions of soldiers you're certain to meet—

Nice make-believe soldiers—in Good-Children street.

And yonder Odette wheels her dolly about—

Poor dolly! I'm sure she is ill,

For one of her blue china eyes has dropped out

And her voice is asthmatic'ly shrill.

Then, too, I observe she is minus her feet,

Which causes much sorrow in Good-Children street.

'Tis so the dear children go romping about

With dollies and banners and drums,

And I venture to say they are sadly put out

When an end to their jubilee comes:

Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleet

With little folk living in Good-Children street!

But when falleth night over river and town,

Those little folk vanish from sight,

And an angel all white from the sky cometh down

And guardeth the babes through the night,

And singeth her lullabies tender and sweet

To the dear little people in Good-Children Street.

Though elsewhere the world be o'erburdened with care,

Though poverty fall to my lot,

Though toil and vexation be always my share,

What care I—they trouble me not!

This  thought maketh life ever joyous and sweet:

There's a dear little home in Good-Children street.