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Golden Grain Garnered from the World's Great Harvest-field of Knowledge

AT THE FIRESIDE.

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At nightfall by the firelight's cheer My little Margaret sits me near, And begs me tell of things that were When I was little just like her. Ah, little lips you touch the spring Of sweetest sad remembering, And hearth and heart flash all aglow With ruddy tints of long ago. I at my father's fireside sit, Youngest of all who circle it, And beg him tell me what did he When he was little just like me. JOHN D. LONG
At nightfall by the firelight's cheer My little Margaret sits me near, And begs me tell of things that were When I was little just like her. Ah, little lips you touch the spring Of sweetest sad remembering, And hearth and heart flash all aglow With ruddy tints of long ago. I at my father's fireside sit, Youngest of all who circle it, And beg him tell me what did he When he was little just like me. JOHN D. LONG
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