Is Grandma asleep? Never fear I shall wake her;

I ’ll sit by the bedside and speak very low,

And out of my lapful of buttercups make her

A bright little nosegay: ’t will gladden her so!

The days, since her sickness, are duller and longer,—

But then what a blessing she suffers no pain!

Every night I ask God, “Please to let her grow stronger,

And be my dear wide-awake Grandma again!”

How queer it would seem if I slept through the daytime,

And never rose up when the birds had begun,

And cared not at all for this beautiful May-time,

So scented with blossoms and merry with sun!

Heigh-ho! I suppose as we all become older

We are wearier, feebler, more willing to die.

Nurse says it ’s the way of the world, and I told her

I hoped that the world’s way would mend by and by.

Nurse shook her head sadly; perhaps she was thinking

How I would be resting as Grandma rests there,

Nor know if the red sun were rising or sinking,

But darken by tired old eyes, and not care.

And perhaps nurse is right. Well, I think in those hours

Of slumber, that pleasanter dreams would appear,

If a child whom I loved brought a lapful of flowers,

And watched by my bedside as I ’m watching here.