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Poem	With big tin trumpet and little red drum, Marching like soldiers, the children come! It 's this way and that way they circle and file--- My! but that music of theirs is fine! This way and that way, and after a while They march straight into this heart of mine! A sturdy old heart, but it has to succumb To the blare of that trumpet and beat of that drum! Come on, little people, from cot and from hall--- This heart it hath welcome and room for you all! It will sing you its songs and warm you with love, As your dear little arms with my arms intertwine; It will rock you away to the dreamland above--- Oh, a jolly old heart is this old heart of mine, And jollier still is it bound to become When you blow that big trumpet and beat that red drum! So come; though I see not his dear little face And hear not his voice in this jubilant place, I know he were happy to bid me enshrine His memory deep in my heart with your play--- Ah me! but a love that is sweeter than mine Holdeth my boy in its keeping to-day! And my heart it is lonely---so, little folk, come, March in and make merry with trumpet and drum!
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