The Old-Fashioned Cot in the Lane.
Copyright, 1884, by Wm. J. McVey.
The fond days of childhood come back to me now,
Bringing thoughts of the sweet long ago,
My memory pictures a loved mother's smile,
And a face framed in tresses of snow.
A father so gentle, I'd climb on his knee,
When twilight stole over the plain;
In the glow of the grate, what tales he'd relate,
In that old-fashioned cot in the lane.
It spoke not of grandeur, of wealth, nor of power,
But peace and content used to reign,
A mother's sweet smile banished sorrow and guile,
From the old-fashioned cot in the lane.
In Summer the flowers would climb to the sill
Of the window where mother would sew,
Thro' the murmuring trees came the laugh of the brook,
That danced in the valley below.
The broad shaded porch, the moss-covered well,
The creaking old gate with its chain,
Comes back through the years that has brought me but tears,
Since I left the old cot in the lane.- Chorus.
The cheery old kitchen when Christmastide came
Was a picture of peaceful content;
The mantelpiece high, where our stockings we'd hang,
Awaiting what Santa Claus sent.
How sadly has time changed the home that I loved,
But memory will ever retain
The bright days of joy I spent when a boy,
In the old-fashioned cot in the lane.-Chorus