 | Harvest of Thoughts |  |
52
BOYHOOD DAYS.
Those good old days of boyhood!
They've gone to come no more;
When we sat around, as the sun went down,
'Bout Hen' Clay's grocery store;
And talking o'er the latest news about the country folks,
Or tried to tell the biggest yarn, or crack the biggest joke.
They've gone to come no more;
When we sat around, as the sun went down,
'Bout Hen' Clay's grocery store;
And talking o'er the latest news about the country folks,
Or tried to tell the biggest yarn, or crack the biggest joke.
Those good old days of boyhood!
How sweet to me they seem;
I oft look back on my boyhood's track,
In a melancholy dream
And view the distant landscape of wooded hills around.
And catch again the merry strain,
Of the wild wood's cheerful sound.
How sweet to me they seem;
I oft look back on my boyhood's track,
In a melancholy dream
And view the distant landscape of wooded hills around.
And catch again the merry strain,
Of the wild wood's cheerful sound.
Those good old days of boyhood!
I recollect so well,
Still in mine ear, can plainly hear,
The chimes of the old school bell;
I see the child like faces,
Worn by my school mates then,
The girls have grown up to women:
And the boys have grown to men.
I recollect so well,
Still in mine ear, can plainly hear,
The chimes of the old school bell;
I see the child like faces,
Worn by my school mates then,
The girls have grown up to women:
And the boys have grown to men.
53
Those good old days of boyhood!
Are sweet to look upon;
When laughing, boys with childish joys,
We swam in Schenck's Old Pond:
And oft mong Cosbey's Pasture Hills,
In streamlets searched the frog,
Or chased the squirrel up a tree, a rabbit in a log.
Are sweet to look upon;
When laughing, boys with childish joys,
We swam in Schenck's Old Pond:
And oft mong Cosbey's Pasture Hills,
In streamlets searched the frog,
Or chased the squirrel up a tree, a rabbit in a log.
Those good old days of boyhood!
I long for them again;
To scamper and play in the mows of hay,
And list to the falling rain:
And read about “Jack and his Bean Stalk,”
Or “Alice in Great Wonder Land:”
And wish to be a wee fairy, or a great big giant man.
I long for them again;
To scamper and play in the mows of hay,
And list to the falling rain:
And read about “Jack and his Bean Stalk,”
Or “Alice in Great Wonder Land:”
And wish to be a wee fairy, or a great big giant man.
Those good old days of boyhood!
Alas! they've drifted by;
Our old play ground is changed around,
I breathe a parting sigh:
For here the country people, have caught the city air,
And changed these spots to village lots;
Excepting here and there.
Alas! they've drifted by;
Our old play ground is changed around,
I breathe a parting sigh:
For here the country people, have caught the city air,
And changed these spots to village lots;
Excepting here and there.
54
Those good old days of boyhood!
I will no more repeat;
My heart was glad but its growing sad,
As those bygone scenes I meet:
Since my barque has drifted mong strangers,
Few, few are the lads that I know,
I find not the joys, I had mong the boys,
In the days long, long ago.
I will no more repeat;
My heart was glad but its growing sad,
As those bygone scenes I meet:
Since my barque has drifted mong strangers,
Few, few are the lads that I know,
I find not the joys, I had mong the boys,
In the days long, long ago.
| Harvest of Thoughts | |