Collected by Max Hunter (H-9) Sung by Mrs. Tressie
For Mary C. Parler Gainesville, Missouri
Transcribed by Frances Majors July 1, 1958
Reel 251-52, Item 18
As I wandered round the homestead,
Many a dear familiar spot
Brought within my recollection
Things seemingly forgot.
There the orchard meadow yonder,
Here the deep, old-fashioned well,
With its old moss-covered bucket,
Sent a thrill no tongue can tell.
Though the house was held by strangers,
All remained the same within,
Just as when a child I rambled
Up and down and out and in.
To the garret, dark ascending,
Once a source of childish dread,
Peering through the musty cobwebs,
Lo, I saw my trundle bed.
Quick I drew it from the rubbish,
Covered o'er with dust so long,
When,behold, I heard in fancy
Strains of once familiar song,
Often sung by my dear mother
To me in my trundle bed:
"Hush, my dear, lie still in slumber,
Holy angels guard thy bed."
As I listened to the music,
Stealing o'er in gentle strains,
I am carried back to childhood,
I am now a child again.
'Tis the hour for my retiring
At the dusky eventide;
Near my mother's knee I'm kneeling,
As in yore by mother's side.
Hands are on my head so loving,
As they were in childhood day;
I was weary, tones and trying
To repeat the words she said.
'Tis a prayer in language simple,
As a mother's lips can pray:
"Father that art in heaven,
Hallowed ever bp thy name."
Trundle Bed (Cont'd)
Reel 251-52, Item 18(Cont'd)
Prayer is over, to my pillows,
With a goodnight kiss I creep,
Scarcely waking while I whisper,
"Now I lay me down to sleep."
When my mother o'er me bending
Prays in smiles but earnest tone,
"Hear my prayer, Oh heavenly Father,
Bless, oh bless, thy precious child."
Yet I know I'm only dreaming,
Ne'er I'll be a child again.
Many years has that dear mother
In a quiet graveyard lain.
But her blessed angel spirit
Hovers daily o'er my head,
Calling me from earth to heaven,
Even from my trundle bed.
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