UP-A-DAISY!
UP-A-DAISY! said his mother,
When the babe was three months old;
Up-a-daisy! and she’d lift him
From the rug whereon he rolled.
Soon the boy began to prattle,
And his lips would strive to say:—
“Up-a-daisy!” but he couldn’t
Master more than “Up-a-day!”
When the babe was three months old;
Up-a-daisy! and she’d lift him
From the rug whereon he rolled.
Soon the boy began to prattle,
And his lips would strive to say:—
“Up-a-daisy!” but he couldn’t
Master more than “Up-a-day!”
“Up-a-daisy!” quaint expression,
Coined in some old nurse’s brain,
As she tossed some merry baby
Up and down, and up again.
But our boy, unversed in diction,
Takes it in another way.
Help, assistance, comfort, succour,
Seeks he in his “Up-a-day!”
Coined in some old nurse’s brain,
As she tossed some merry baby
Up and down, and up again.
But our boy, unversed in diction,
Takes it in another way.
Help, assistance, comfort, succour,
Seeks he in his “Up-a-day!”
Months flew by—the boy grew stronger;
Childhood’s little griefs and cares,
Marr’d some merry, merry moments—
Stupid stools and naughty chairs.
Would persist in falling o’er him;
And, as on the ground he lay,
He would kick, and scream, and scramble—
“Mamma, Mamma, Up-a-day!”
Childhood’s little griefs and cares,
Marr’d some merry, merry moments—
Stupid stools and naughty chairs.
Would persist in falling o’er him;
And, as on the ground he lay,
He would kick, and scream, and scramble—
“Mamma, Mamma, Up-a-day!”
Now he falls across the fender,
Now he tumbles on the stairs,
Screams, and sobs, and runs to mother
With his troubles and his cares.
“Oh! you naughty boy, what ails you?
Sonny, do be quiet, pray!
Dere now, dere now, what’s the matter?”
“Mamma, Mamma, Up-a-day!”
Now he tumbles on the stairs,
Screams, and sobs, and runs to mother
With his troubles and his cares.
“Oh! you naughty boy, what ails you?
Sonny, do be quiet, pray!
Dere now, dere now, what’s the matter?”
“Mamma, Mamma, Up-a-day!”
“Papa turn and play me sojers,
Me will shoot oo’ with my dun.”
Fierce the onslaught, papa’s vanquished;
Baby has the victory won.
Ah! the fate of war is cruel;
Baby’s gun breaks in the fray—
“Oh! my dun, my dun is broken,
“Mamma, Mamma, Up-a-day!”
Me will shoot oo’ with my dun.”
Fierce the onslaught, papa’s vanquished;
Baby has the victory won.
Ah! the fate of war is cruel;
Baby’s gun breaks in the fray—
“Oh! my dun, my dun is broken,
“Mamma, Mamma, Up-a-day!”
Babyhood is manhood’s mirror;
Toys and sorrows, smiles and tears,
Find their birth-place in the cradle,
Growing stronger with the years.
“Mother,” is our cry in spring-time;
But when Winter holds his sway,
From the depths we raise our voices
“Father, Father, Up-a-day!”
Toys and sorrows, smiles and tears,
Find their birth-place in the cradle,
Growing stronger with the years.
“Mother,” is our cry in spring-time;
But when Winter holds his sway,
From the depths we raise our voices
“Father, Father, Up-a-day!”
Onward in the march of progress,
Busy hands, and toddling feet;
Cosy cradle superseded
By the cot so snug and neat.
Mischief-making little meddler,
Wearied out at twilight gray,
Clinging to the skirts of Mamma—
“Me so tired,” then “Up-a-day!”
Busy hands, and toddling feet;
Cosy cradle superseded
By the cot so snug and neat.
Mischief-making little meddler,
Wearied out at twilight gray,
Clinging to the skirts of Mamma—
“Me so tired,” then “Up-a-day!”
Oh, the golden dreams of childhood
Oh, the visions babies see!
After they have lisped, “Our Father,”
Nodding upon Mother’s knee.
Cares and troubles all forgotten,
Till the morn’s first diamond ray
Opes the rosebuds and the red "lips,
And the eyelids, “Up-a-day!”
Oh, the visions babies see!
After they have lisped, “Our Father,”
Nodding upon Mother’s knee.
Cares and troubles all forgotten,
Till the morn’s first diamond ray
Opes the rosebuds and the red "lips,
And the eyelids, “Up-a-day!”
Once again the little despot
Rules the house with iron will;
Jumps and crows, and screams, and scrambles—
Not a single moment still.
Merry, rippling, silver laughter,
Sunshine followed soon by spray;
Troubles crowd again upon him,
“Mamma, Mamma, Up-a-day!”
Rules the house with iron will;
Jumps and crows, and screams, and scrambles—
Not a single moment still.
Merry, rippling, silver laughter,
Sunshine followed soon by spray;
Troubles crowd again upon him,
“Mamma, Mamma, Up-a-day!”
Oh! the time will come, my darling,
When the hearts that shield thee now
Shall be silent, and time’s furrows
Will leave traces on thy brow;
When the shadows fall upon thee,
Turn thine eyes from Earth away,
Lift thy voice and cry with fervour—
“Father, Father, Up-a-day!”
When the hearts that shield thee now
Shall be silent, and time’s furrows
Will leave traces on thy brow;
When the shadows fall upon thee,
Turn thine eyes from Earth away,
Lift thy voice and cry with fervour—
“Father, Father, Up-a-day!”