Good Morning, Mister Policeman.
Copyright, MDCCCXCYII, by Henry J. Wehman,
Words and Music by Chas. Graham.
He was a big policeman, a little maid was she,
Going to school each morning, just as happy as could he,
His post was at the school-house, so they were sure to meet,
And the little scholar's greetings soon became to him a treat;
He waited for her coming, so full of childish grace,
He knew a pleasant smile for him beamed on her sweet, young face;
He felt his heart grow warmer, when he saw her far away,
Knowing well she'd run to greet him, knowing well these words she'd say:
Good morning, Mister Policeman, I'm not afraid of you,
Because you wear brass buttons and a uniform of blue;
My teacher says she likes you. because you are so kind.
If children just behave themselves, a good friend In you they'll find.
One day the maid was missing-"her birthday, p'raps," said he;
"If that's why she stays away, I hope she'll happy be."
Yet three days more passed slowly, she came not thro' the gates,
And the big policeman then inquired of her amongst her mates.
"We did not like to tell you," one brown-eyed lassie said,
"But perhaps you'd better know the truth, sir, little May is dead."
He turn'd aside to hide a tear, sad was his heart that, day,
When he knew no more she'd greet him, And no more he'd hear her say: