And like a little birdling lie / Secure within thy cozy nest / Upon my loving mother breast, / And slumber to my lullaby.

Should a patron require you to paint a marine, / Would you work in some trees with their barks on? / When his strict orders are for a Japanese jar, / Would you give him a pitcher like Clarkson? / Now, this is my moral: Compose what you may, / And Fame will be ever far distant / Unless you combine with a simple design / A treatment in toto consistent.

With big tin trumpet and little red drum, / Marching like soldiers, the children come! / It 's this way and that way they circle and file--- / My! but that music of theirs is fine! / This way and that way, and after a while / They march straight into this heart of mine!

But first, before our mentor chimes / The hour of jubilee, / Let's drink a health to good old times, / And good times yet to be!

But I, when I undress me / Each night, upon my knees / Will ask the Lord to bless me / With apple-pie and cheese.

Swing high and swing low / While the breezes they blow - / It's off for a sailor thy father would go; / And it's here in the harbor, in sight of the sea, / He hath left his wee babe with my song and with me: / Swing high and swing low / While the breezes they blow!

A little peach in the orchard grew,--/ A little peach of emerald hue; / Warmed by the sun and wet by the dew, / It grew.

But down in Tennessee one night Ther' wuz sound uv firin' fur away, 'Nd the sergeant allowed ther' 'd be a fight With the Johnnie Rebs some time nex' day

How calm, how beauteous and how cool-- How like a sister to the skies, Appears the broad, transparent pool That in this quiet forest lies.

And here is the ring she gave me with love's sweet promise then.