LEST I FORGET

WHEN from my earliest abode in boyhood’s merry days I strode, Oh, well do I remember how my mother came—I see her now— And, standing in the old front door, repeated to me o’er and o’er: “Oh, William, don’t do this and that, and William, wear your other hat. Please, William, don’t forget my note, and William, wear your overcoat. And William, hurry on your way, or you’ll be late to school today.” And far and long as I could hear her admonitions to my ear Came floating on, repeated yet, lest I forget, lest I forget. When from my lessons, shirked or done, came homeward I at waning sun, Oh, well do I remember how my mother came—I see her now— And greeted me at that front door with admonitions o’er and o’er: “Oh, William, don’t do this and that, and wipe your feet upon the mat, And do not slam the door and wake the baby, William, and please take This package down to Howe and Hatch and tell them that it doesn’t match, And don’t forget to hurry back, because the kitchen fire is slack”; And far and long as I could hear her admonitions to my ear Come floating on, repeated yet, lest I forget, lest I forget. I’m married now—at man’s estate, and yet, quite mournful to relate, My wife it is who, as before, comes with me to the new front door, And standing there, bombards me for a block or two, and o’er and o’er: “Oh, William, don’t you wet your feet, and William, don’t forget the meat, And William, don’t forget to mail my letter promptly, and don’t fail To pay the ice bill, order wood; and William, would you be so good As to stop in at Jones’s store and get a bit of ribbon for The baby’s hair?”—and so ’tis yet—lest I forget—lest I forget!