Page:Andrew Lockhart - At the Bars of Memory.pdf/14



He's got a care-free swagger when he trails along the street, An' I reckon most folks would say he's as shiftless as can be; An' his arms are always swingin' to the swingin' o' his feet. An' he always keeps a-whistlin' an' just take it now from me He's got a world o' sunshine in his dirty, freckled face, An' his torn an' patched-up overalls an' shirt an' other things Just cover up a body that is full o' tender grace An' I'd pay him honest homage when I'd grudge the same to kings!

He's got a face-free swagger an' his arms are long an' thin An' I reckon God Almighty put the fire into his eyes Just about the self-same time He put the sunshine in his grin, An' filled his hair with sunbeams pluck'd from out the summer skies. An' where he got his laughter, well say, I don't know where But I've heard it in the meadow where the brook goes idlin' by; An' I've heard it in the willows 'round the old creek over there Where I used to watch the shiners snappin' at a dragon-fly.

Tricky? Well, I guess he is, an' he will keep you guessin', too, An' you couldn't get him mad or sore for all you'd try an' plan; He's full o ' pep an' ginger, but I know he wouldn't do A mean trick to the meanest chap you'd call a low-down man. An' he's always there an' willin' to lend a helpin' hand, An' he just loves to have you kinda notice him, an' say— He'd make you like him, love him, an' he'd help you understand The glory o' the night an' all the glories o' the day!

He's just a little shaver an' I don't suppose that you Would ever stop to mark him if you'd meet him in a crowd; But b'lieve me—he's the chap I'll doff my old sombrero to, 'Cause he's a friend o' mine an' honest Injun I am proud To have him come an' greet me with his happy, boyish yell: I'm glad to have him holler when he sees me passin' by, An' all his songs an whistled tunes just seem to weave a spell That takes me back across the years, an' … durn that leaky eye!

He's got a care-free swagger when he trails along the street, An' I reckon most folks would say he's as shiftless as can be; An' his arms are always swingin' to the swingin' o' his feet, An' he always keeps a'whistlin' an' just take it now from me— He's got a world o' sunshine in his dirty, freckled face, An' his torn an' patched-up overalls an' shirt an' other things Just cover up a body that is full o' tender grace An' I'd pay him honest homage when I'd grudge the same to kings!