Show THE TRUNDLE As I rummaged through the Listening to the falling 1 As it pattered on the shingles And against the window Peeping over shelves and Which with dust were thickly Saw I in the farthest corner What was once my trundle So I drew it from the recess Where it had remained Hearing all the time the music Of my mother's voice in As she sang in sweetest accent What I since have often read my lie still and Holy angels guard thy As I recollections That I thought had been forgot Came with all the of thronging to the And I wandered back to To those merry days of When I knelt beside my mother By this bed upon the Then it with hands so gently Placed upon my infant That she taught my lips to utter Carefully the words she Never they be forgotten Deep are they in memory be thy O Thou who are in This she taught then she told me Of its geat and After which I learned to I law me down to Then it was with hand And in accents soft That my mother asked our do Thou bless my Years have and that dear mother Long has moldered the And I trust her sainted spirit Revels in the courts of But that scene at Summer fl A Never has from memory And it comes in all its freshness When I see my trundle |