The Rag Bag

When we went down to grandma’s
To visit our dearest kin,
We asked for grandma’s rag bag
That hangs in the garret bin.

Oh, grandma’s frugal minded
From an old New England day,
But you ought to see that rag bag
And the things she threw away.

There were gloves that had no fingers,
And hose of Highland clans;
There were petticoats from Paris
And Pekin’s painted fans.

Our fingers flew at random
Like bees at a flower stall,
And we found that gown of grandma’s
That she wore at the governor’s ball.

We carried it down from the garret,
The Florentine flounces set;
And we made our grandma show us
How she danced the minuet.

Oh, grandma’s frugal minded,
And sometimes her foot goes down,
But her riches she puts in the rag bag
When we are coming to town.