Waiting for Father. Rhymes and Jingles by Mary Mapes Dodge for children
In the gray of the twilight and glow of the fire,
A little girl sat on the rug.
She was warming a slipper; and pussy sat nigh her,
And also her friend, Mr. Pug.
And the song in the heart of the glad little girl,
As the light of the fire played over each curl,
Was, "Father is coming—hurrah! hurrah!
Father is coming—hurrah!"
She had spread out his soft woolen gown on the chair,
With its facings of beautiful blue;
Had picked up her playthings that lay here and there,
And arranged things as well as she knew.
"For the room must be tidy and pretty and bright,"
She said to herself, "when he comes, every night,
And soon he is coming—hurrah! hurrah!
Father is coming—hurrah!"
How rosy her cheeks, and how sparkling her eyes!
How dimpled her soft little hand!
While Pussy and Pug look as solemn and wise
As if the whole scene they had planned.
But you never would think, so demure are the three,
That the little maid's heart could be singing with glee,
"Father is coming—hurrah! hurrah!
Father is coming—hurrah!"
The sunlight has vanished, and bleak is the street,
And beggars are dreading the night.
The pavement is noisy with home-speeding feet,
And only the windows are bright;
When quickly the little maid springs from the rug,
Leaving Pussy half sleeping, but followed by Pug;
"Father is coming—hurrah! hurrah!
Father is coming—hurrah!"