You strike up that song, "Do They Miss Me?"
And I'm jest a youngster again!--
I'm a-standin' back there in the furries
A-wishin' far evening to come,
And a-whisperin' over and over
Them words, "Do They Miss Me at Home?"

You see, Marthy Ellen she sung it
The first time I heerd it; and so,
As she was my very first sweetheart,
It reminds of her, don't you know,--
How her face ust to look, in the twilight,
As I tuck her to spellin'; and she
Kep' a-hummin' that song 'tel I ast her,
Pine-blank, ef she ever missed me!

I can shet my eyes now, as you sing it,
And hear her low answerin' words,
And then the glad chirp of the crickets
As clear as the twitter of birds;
And the dust in the road is like velvet,
And the ragweed, and fennel, and grass
Is as sweet as the scent of the lilies
Of Eden of old, as we pass.

"Do They Miss Me at Home?" Sing it lower--
And softer--and sweet as the breeze
That powdered our path with the snowy
White bloom of the old locus'-trees!
Let the whippoorwills he'p you to sing it,