OH, the blissful days of childhood,

When we rambled in the wildwood;

Pulling grape-vines down to swing in;

Waking echoes with our singing;

Putting teeters through the fence;

Playing maple boughs were tents;

Taking rides on fallen logs;

Catching little pollywogs;

Going Maying in the spring,

Seeing who most flowers could bring;

All the long, bright summer day,

Helping father make the hay;

Going fishing in the autumn,

Proud as kings when we had caught 'em;

But the best time, I remember,

Came with Christmas and December.

Oh, such blissful, happy days,—

Would that they might last always!