Arthur Rodman’s “Jingles” Booklet-Pages 33-34

          AGAIN THE BABY

Baby’s playing on the floor-
How we love her, more and more!
Having fun with every toy,
Gurgling out her childish joy.

Nothing now to mar her bliss,
Guess I’ll have another kiss.
Shoeless foot and chubby hand,
Sweetest baby in the land!

Look! She’s nibbling at her shoe!
That’s a funny thing to do.
Next we’ll see our babykin
Try to eat a rolling pin.

Now she’s wabbling-down she goes,
Right upon her little nose.
But she didn’t mind a bit,
Guess our baby’s got some grit.

Now she finds a Teddy Bear,
See her pulling at his hair.
Next she finds her tiny feet,
Thinks her toes are good to eat.

Seems to think it’s lots of fun,
See her bite the biggest one.
Soon she finds they’re not to eat,
But she’s making both ends meet.

After ‘while she will not dare,
She must sit up on a chair;
Fold her arms and cross her feet,
All togged up and looking neat.

Play on, baby, not a care;
Come and pull your daddy’s hair.
Pull his nose and pound him good,
Wouldn’t stop you if I could.

Come and climb upon my back,
‘Way we go around the track.
“Get up, Dobbin, show some speed,
Run as tho you’d had your feed.”

But it won’t be very long
Till you’ve grown so big and strong
That we can not romp this way,
Then we’l1 find some other way.

          THE FIRE PLACE

In the deep’ning shades of twilight,
When the sun has gone to rest
Down behind the snow-clad hilltops
In the richly-gilded west,

It is then I pile the faggots
In that dear old fire place;
How I love to sit and watch it
With its broad and blazing face.

How the cordwood burns and crackles;
How the flames do leap and roar,
Casting vague, fantastic shadows
On the ceiling, walls and floor.

There’s a stealthy Indian warrior,
Crouching low along the trail;
There’s a sly and crafty red fox
Chasing Molly Cottontail.

Here’s a place of solid comfort,
Where no troubles come a-nigh;
Here I come to smoke and ponder
O’er the days so long gone by.

It is here I often wonder
Why the world seems upside-down;
Why we oft, instead of smiling
Wear a deep and scowling frown.

But the soothing scene before me,
With its warm and cheerful glow,
Makes me quite forget the tempest,
And the piercing winds that blow.

And it’s when I’m far off yonder,
Where I see no friendly face,
That I long to see the blazing
Of that dear old fire place.

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