By The Brook





OH, well do I remember when

My cousin Jack and I

Were little fellows, nine and ten

(But now we're old, gray-headed men,

And very soon must die).

The dear old house upon the hill,

The house grandfather Made,

I sometimes see it in my dreams,

And I can see it still, it seems,

Where often we have played.

We used to love the flowers that grew

About the cottage door;

The names of every one we knew,

And oft we searched the meadows through

In hopes of finding more.

But most of all, we loved to play

Beside the shining brook,

And on its banks, the livelong day,

We'd while the happy hours away

A-fishing with a hook.

The fish we caught were sometimes large,

And sometimes they were small,

And sometimes we would lucky be,

And bring home trout enough for tea,

But oftener, none at all.

Dear Jack and I, in early life,

The narrow pathway took.

Our Master cares for us, I know,

The same as when we used to go

A-fishing by the brook.



Mrs. L. D. A. STUTTLE.