Fill my room with happy noise—

May God bless them, girls and boys!

Then sweet eyes upon me shine,

Dimpled hands are laid in mine;

And I never ask them why

They have sought to climb so high;

For 'twere useless to enquire!

'Tis a story they desire,

Taken from my ancient store,

None the worse if heard before;

And they turn, with pleading looks,

To my shelf of time-worn books,

Bound in parchment brown with age.

Little in them to engage

Children's fancy, one would say!

Yet, when tired with noisy play,

Nothing pleases them so well

As the stories I can tell

From those pages, old and gray,

With their edges worn away;

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