The Little Army

Little women, little men,

Childhood never comes again.

Live it gayly while you may;

Give your baby souls to play;

March to sound of stick and pan,

In your paper hats, and tramp

just as bravely as you can

To your pleasant little camp.

Wooden sword and wooden gun

Make a battle splendid fun.

Fine the victories you win

Dimpled cheek and dimpled chin.

Little women, little men,

Hearts are light when years are ten;

Eyes are bright and cheeks are red

When life's cares lie all ahead.

Drums make merry music when

They are leading children out;

Trumpet calls are cheerful then,

Glorious is the battle shout.

Little soldiers, single file,

Uniformed in grin and smile,

Conquer every foe they meet

Up and down the gentle street.

Little women, little men,

Would that youth could come again!

Would that I might fall in line

As a little boy of nine,

But with broomstick for a gun,

And with paper hat that I

Bravely wore back there for fun,

Never more may I defy

Foes that deep in ambush kneel —

Now my warfare's grim and real.

I that once was brave and bold,

Now am battered, bruised and old.

Little women, little men,

Planning to attack my den,

Little do you know the joy

That you give a worn-out boy

As he hears your gentle feet

Pitter-patting in the hall;

Gladly does he wait to meet

Conquest by a troop so small.

Dimpled cheek and dimpled chin,

You have but to smile to win.

Come and take him where he stays

Dreaming of his by-gone days.