THE CHILD'S WISHES.
39
So high above the tree-tops,
Dear mother, I could fly,
You'd almost think me sailing up
To visit yonder sky.
Dear mother, I could fly,
You'd almost think me sailing up
To visit yonder sky.
Oh, if I were the south-wind,
That sings so soft and deep,
And scampers down the hillside
Among the flocks of sheep,
I'd fan the little lambkins
Through every sultry day,
And make the sweet white clover
Bloom for them all the way.
That sings so soft and deep,
And scampers down the hillside
Among the flocks of sheep,
I'd fan the little lambkins
Through every sultry day,
And make the sweet white clover
Bloom for them all the way.
Oh, if I were the streamlet
Down in the mossy dell,
I'd sing the whole time gently
To the listening lily-bell,—
I'd water thirsty meadows,
And verdant make the grass,
And all the little sleepy flowers
Would laugh to see me pass.
Down in the mossy dell,
I'd sing the whole time gently
To the listening lily-bell,—
I'd water thirsty meadows,
And verdant make the grass,
And all the little sleepy flowers
Would laugh to see me pass.
Oh, if I were a daisy
In some shady wayside nook,
Where the pretty village maidens
Would pause on me to look,
I'd charm them with my fragrance
Of half their gentle love,
With my eyes so bright and starry
Lifted unto heaven above.
In some shady wayside nook,
Where the pretty village maidens
Would pause on me to look,
I'd charm them with my fragrance
Of half their gentle love,
With my eyes so bright and starry
Lifted unto heaven above.
