As I rummag’d thro’ the attic,
List’ning to the falling rain,
As it patter’d on the shingles
And against the window pane;
Peeping over chests and boxes,
Which with dust were thickly spread;
Saw I in the farthest corner
What was once my trundle bed.
As I listen’d, recollections,
That I thought had been forgot,
Came with all the gush of mem’ry,
Rushing, thronging to the spot;
And I wander’d back to childhood,
To those merry days of yore,
When I knelt beside my mother,
By this bed upon the floor.
So I drew it from the recess,
Where it had remain’d so long,
Hearing all the while the music
Of my mother’s voice in song;
As she sung in sweetest accents,
What I since have often read
Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber,
Holy angels guard thy bed.”
Years have pass’d, and that dear mother,
Long has moulder’d ‘neath the sod.
And I trust her sainted spirit
Revels in the home of God:
But that scene at summer twilight,
Never had from mem’ry fled,
And it comes in all its freshness
When I see my trundle bed.
Then it was with hands so gently
Places upon my infant head,
That she taught my lips to utter
Carefully the words she said:
Never can they be forgotten,
Deep are they in mem’ry riven
“Hallowed be thy name, O, Father!
Father! Thou who art in heaven.”
This she taught me, then she told me
Of its import, great and deep
After which I learned to utter
“Now I lay me down to sleep:”
Then it was with hands uplifted,
And in accents soft and mild,
That my mother asked
“Our Father! Father! do thou bless my child!”
Baker, John C., "My Trundle Bed" (1860). Historic Sheet Music Collection. 986.
The views expressed in this paper are solely those of the author.