LITTLE Home-body is mother's wee pet, 

  Fairest and sweetest of house-keepers yet; 

Up when the roses in golden light peep, 

Helping her mother to sew and to sweep; 

Tidy and prim in her apron and gown; 

Brightest of eyes of the bonniest brown; 

Tiniest fingers, and needle so fleet, 

Pattern of womanhood, down at my feet.

Little Home-body is grave and demure, 

Weeps when you speak of the wretched and poor, 

Though she can laugh in the merriest way 

While you are telling a tale that is gay. 

Lily that blooms in some lone leafy nook, 

Sly little hide-away, moss-sided brook, 

Fairies are tine where the silver dews fall; 

Home-fairies, these are the best of them all.