Little Joe

What will the birds do, Mother, in the spring

Will they gather crumbs around my door

Will they fly from the trees, tap upon my window

And ask why Joe wanders out no more

And what will the kitten do, Mother, all alone

Will he stop from his prowling for a day

Will he lay on the rug by the side of my bed

As he did before I went away

And what will Thomas the old gardner say

When you ask him for flowers for me

Will he give you a rose he has tended with care

First fairest bloom from the tree

I could see the teardrops forming in his honest old eyes

He said it was the wind that brought them there

As he gazed on my cheeks growing paler each day

His hands trembling o'er my hair

Keep Tyge, Mother, my poor little dog

I know he will mourn for me too

Keep him though old and useless he grows

Sleeping the whole summer through

Show him my coat, Mother, so he won't forget

His master who then will be dead

Speak to him often and kindly of Joe

And pat him on his brown shaggy head

And you dearest, Mother, may miss me for a while

But in heaven no larger I'll grow

And any kind angel well know at the gate

When you ask for your darling little Joe