THE BULLFROG SERENADE

When the toil of day is over

And the dew is on the clover,

And the night-hawk whirls in circles overhead;

When the cow-bells melt and mingle

In a softened, silver jingle,

And the old hen calls the chickens in to bed;

When the marshy meadows glimmer

With a misty, purple shimmer,

And the twilight flush is changing into shade;

When the firefly lamps are burning

And the dusk to dark is turning,—

Then the bullfrogs chant their evening serenade:

“Deep-deep, deep-deep, deep-deep, deep-deep!

Better go‘ round! Better go‘ round! Better go‘ round,”

First the little chaps begin it,

Raise their high-pitched voices in it,

And the shrill soprano piping sets the pace;

Then the others join the singing

Till the echoes soon are ringing

With the big green-coated leader's double-bass.

All the lilies are a-quiver,

And the grasses by the river

Feel the mighty chorus shaking every blade,

While the dewy rushes glisten

As they bend their heads to listen

To the bullfrogs’ summer evening serenade:

“Deep-deep, deep-deep, deep-deep, deep-deep!

Better go‘ round! Better go‘ round! Better go‘ round!”

And the melody they're tuning

Has the sweet and sleepy crooning

That the mother hums the baby at her breast,

Till the world forgets its sorrow

And the cares that haunt the morrow,

And is sinking, hushed and happy, to its rest

Sometimes bubbling o'er with gladness,

Sometimes soft and fall of sadness,

Through my dreaming rings the music they have played,

And my memory's dearest treasures

Have been fitted to the measures

Of the bullfrogs’ summer evening serenade:

“Deep-deep, deep-deep, deep-deep, deep-deep!

Better go‘ round! Better go‘ round! Better go‘ round!”