Show THE OLD ROCKING The oaken bucket has a place In story and in And to the wooden Some laurel-wreaths The orchard the ancient clock The old traditions But dearest to my mind of all Was mother's rocking I nestled in her loving arms Toward the close of And to the pleasant land of dreams Was quickly rocked When pain and illness racked my What ease compare I with pillows at my In mother's rocking No padded seat or cushioned arms Of silk or leather In all the years since then have held Such comfort for my And often when I feel the weight Of grinding toil and Oh how 1 long to rest again In mother's rocking Minna in Leslie's |