"Sweet are the flowers of life,
Swept o'er my happy days at home;
Sweet are the flowers of life
When I was a little child.

"Sweet are the flowers of life
That I spent with my father at home;
Sweet are the flowers of life
When children played about the house.

"Sweet are the flowers of life
When the lamps are lighted at night;
Sweet are the flowers of life
When the flowers of summer bloomed.

"Sweet are the flowers of life
Dead with the snows of winter;
Sweet are the flowers of life
When the days of spring come on.

[Footnote B: These lines were actually composed by a six-year-old child.]

"That's all of that one. I made another one when I digged after the
turtle. I will say that. It is a very pretty one," observed the poet
with charming candor, and, taking a long breath, he tuned his little
lyre afresh:

"Sweet, sweet days are passing
O'er my happy home,