As I sit by the ruddy oak fire,
And feel the grateful glow,
Come mem’ries sweet of a rustic cot,
That stood near the pebbly shore.
With its porch so bright and sunny,
Where the children loved to play,
With the sounding shells, from the sandy beach,
All through the summer’s day.
Where, where are the blessed little ones
Whose childish voices sweet,
Who made the sunny porch resound
With the patter of little feet?
One where the South Seas wildly break,
And dash on the gleaming sand,
Has made Him a home ’mid strangers,
Far, far from his native land.
Another, the sweetest and dearest,
Has long ’neath the daisies been laid,
O! dark as a pall was the hour
When they whispered my darling was dead.
The cottage still stands by the sea shore,
Our sunny, bright “Nestle-Down,”
But we ask so sadly where, O! where
Are the little children gone?