Copyright, 1894, by Charles W. Held.
Words by George Cooper. Music by W. H. Friday, Jr.
Oh, the birds of summer sing their song, and sweet it is to hear;
You could listen to it all day long, 'tis joy unto the ear;
But there's a lovelier song to me, when toils of day are o'er;
A tiny voice of melody, that greets me at the door.
Da-da! Da-da! that's what baby says;
Da-da! Da-da! oh, such pretty ways,
Shakes his little hands with glee,
Gives me kisses-one, two, three,
Happy as a bird when calling Da-da!
Though the day may weary seem and sad, there's rest for me at home,
For the baby's smile it makes me glad, when to my door I roam;
He holds his dimpled arms out so, and, with a cunning smile.
Begins to softly coo and crow, and murmur all the while:-Chorus.
Oh, I'd rather miss the light of day, the stars that grace the sky,
Than to miss this word I hear him say, when toil for me goes by;
Before his pretty eye-lids close, at twilight's tranquil fall;
While, like a flower, he seeks repose, I hear the baby call:- Chorus.