“Oft in the Stilly Night”
BBaby and I in the weary night
Are taking a walk for his delight;
I drowsily stumble o’er stool and chair
And clasp the babe with grim despair,
For he’s got the colic
And paregoric
Don’t seem to ease my squalling heir.
Baby and I in the morning gray
Are griping and squalling and walking away—
The fire’s gone out and I nearly freeze—
There’s a smell of peppermint on the breeze.
Then Mamma wakes
And baby takes
And says, “Now cook the breakfast, please.”