MRS. GROGAN'S BOY.
Copyright, 1888, by T. B. Harms & Co.
A week ago last Sunday night
To a christening I did go;
It was held down here at Grogan's house,
A few short blocks below;
All the neighbors were invited
And welcomed them with joy;
Arrah, they shower'd heaps of compliments,
On Mrs. Grogan's boy.
Oh, ev'ry one was crazy
To hold the bouncing lad,
While we congratulated
The mother and the dad.
The child set up a squalling.
Which made the old house ring,
And the father gay, in a quaint way.
These words was heard to sing-
Go to sleep, my baby,
Close your little eyes,
Can't you stop your crying,
Your parents " they are nigh;
You are your mother's comfort.
And your father's heart's delight,
Now, do be still, while the glass we fill,
For it is your christ'ning night.
The people who assembled there,
They were of great renown,
For Irish wit and humor,
Oh. there like could not be found;
The toast drank for the baby,
By its Uncle Tim Malone,
He hoped he'd make as good a man
As Parnell or Gladstone.
The music it was there on time,
A harp and violin.
And when they played sweet Garry Owen,
The old folks they did grin;
The jigs and reels were numerous,
How the good old ale did fly!
But what a joke when the baby woke,
For the father had to cry:-better.
And just for sociability,
Oh, ev'rybody sang;
There was ballads from Tom Moore,
Also, "Terry joined the gang;"
O'Shaughnessy, the Irish dude,
'Twas rendered in dramatic style,
And never woke the boy.
When early dawn was breaking,
Casey danced a Highland fling,
And ev'ry one requested
Mr. Grogan for to sing;
The band struck up "Killarney,"
Sweeter strains sure never rang,
But they all were disappointed,
For this is the song he sang:-Chorus.