by Mary D. Brine
Oh, a jolly old place is grandpa's barn,
Where the doors stand open throughout the day,
And the cooing doves fly in and out,
And the air is sweet with the fragrant hay;
Where the grain lies over the slippery floor,
And the hens are busily looking around,
And the sunbeams flicker, now here, now there,
And the breeze blows through with a merry sound
The swallows twitter and chirp all day,
With fluttering wings, in the old brown eaves,
And the robins sing in the trees which lean
To brush the roof with their rustling leaves.
O for the glad vacation time,
When grandpa's barn will echo the shout
Of merry children, who romp and play
In the new-born freedom of "school let out."
Such scaring of doves from their cozy nests,
Such hunting for eggs in the lofts so high,
Till the frightened hens, with a cackle shrill,
From their hidden treasures are fain to fly.
Oh, the dear old barn, so cool, so wide!
Its doors will open again ere long
To the summer sunshine, the new-mown hay,
And the merry ring of vacation song.
For grandpa's barn is the jolliest place
For frolic and fun on a summer's day;
And e'en old Time, as the years slip by,
Its memory never can steal away.