The Infant's Delight

BLIND MAN'S BUFF.

When the win-ter winds are blow-ing, And we ga-ther glad and gay, Where the fire its light is throw-ing, For a mer-ry game at play, There is none that to my know-ing,— And I've play-ed at games enough,— Makes us laugh, and sets us glow-ing Like a game at Blind-man's Buff.