An’ she allus took her knittin’, Jest to pass the time away, Or some darnin’ for the neighbors, An’ she didn’t work for pay. But she didn’t work for nothin’, For we all loved Grandma Brown, An’ I really think the bluebirds Had a fondness for her gown. She was “kind-o’ thick o’ hearin’,” But she used to say to me, “I can hear the things a-growin’ Jest as plain as plain can be.” Then she’d take me up an’ kiss me, An’ she’d trot me up an’ down, Then she’d feel ’round in the pocket Of that old blue gingham gown Till she found a broken cookie, Or a peppermint or two, Then she’d pat my cheek and hug me Like she loved me thro’ and thro’. But the day came when I missed her From her rickety old chair, It was in the early springtime When the lilacs drugged the air, An’ the world was bright and merry, An’ the little birds, a-wing, Were as happy as the sunshine, But it didn’t seem like spring. Then I thought how once she told me She was “goin’ abroad some day,” An’ she said, “I’m good for nothin’, An’ I’m sort of in the way.” Well, she wasn’t very handsome, But if God e’er made a crown For the good folks up in heaven, There was one for Grandma Brown. SLUMBER SONG. Gae to sleep, my bonnie baby, Gae to sleep, my bairn, an’ dream; Shadows thro’ the pines are creeping, Lilies on the wimplin’ stream Noo are rockin’, rockin’, rockin’; A’ their snawy besoms gleam Wi’ the gold o’ starlight folded In their hearts to light their dream. Sae may luve my kisses gi’e you On your dainty lips to-night, Wi’ the tenderness o’ roses; Bless your dreams; guid-night, guid-night! Gae to sleep, then, bonnie babie, Gae to sleep, my bairn, and dream, While the lily-buds are rockin’, Rockin’, rockin’ on the stream. THE ENIGMA. With Hope a guest at my right hand, And Death upon my left, Life entertains me royally, While Time with warp and weft Of doubt and pain and smiles and tears And irridescent dream, In arabesque to me unknown Pursues its endless theme. THE PASSING OF THE OLD ELM. The orioles are weeping by the roadside down the way, And the robins, heavy-hearted, still their laughter for a day, For the old elm tree is passing, in the middle of the town, And the axes will not tarry till the old elm tree is down. You may share no more its message in the springtime of the year, With the joyful lilting concord when the song-birds first appear; You will miss the calm enchantment of its leafy choirs in June, And its heavenly benediction on an August afternoon. You will miss the sunset glory where it yellowed in the fall, And the swarm of stars that gathered in the branches at the call Of the sparrow at his vespers; you will miss the joy and glow Of the melting moonlight blended with its legion flowers of snow.