BOYS AND GIRLS

We were "seven in all," as the dear rustic maid

To the poet so sweetly protested;

And together we rambled and studied and played,

Each imbibing a share of the sunshine and shade

Wherewith our young life was invested.

And black eyes and blue eyes and brown eyes and gray

Looked up to the face of our mother,

As she led us in study in labor or play,

Or told of "Our Father," and taught us to pray,

And to cherish and love one another.

O, the rapture of being when life is a-tune

With the song-life and beauty of morning;

When the roseate dawn brightens into the noon,

And the year hastens on to the splendor of June,

In her fragrance and matchless adorning.

So our years flitted by and the youngest of all—

Our dark-eyed and fun-loving brother—

Was grown to be manly and lithesome and tall,

And to couteous titles we answered the call,

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