Our Little Boy At Play

When he was six he said he’d be

A mighty soldier, so said he.

And up and down would he parade

With gun and saber and cockade;

And as we watched him marching there,

With head and shoulders in the air,

We thought how great a man someday

Would be our little boy at play.

At twelve his soldier course had run,

He lay aside his sword and gun;

He cared no more for fields and brooks,

But spent his time o’er maps and books,

Form morn to night he’d read and write,

And sigh when we put out the light.

A scholar then, our boy will be,

A mighty scholar whispered we.

At eighteen years he cared no more

For books or scientific lore;

He wanted money, more than we

Could furnish him conveniently,

And so he went to work, the while

We wept, but he saw but the smile.

And our great hopes we put away

Behind our little boy at play.

Three years went by, at twenty one

He wedded and his course was run.

Bright children came to bless the pair,

But poverty lurked sadly there

And oftentimes to tide him o’er

We gave him from our meager store.

O dreams that come and fade away

O happy little boy at play!

Jan. 19, 1908