Als happy as a king is Roy, ae
When on his mother’s knee he sits;
Far better than a book or toy ;

Or, even than his cat or kits.

He loves that quiet resting place ;
He loves to feel her gentle kiss ;

He loves to gaze into her face,

And feel how sweet a mother is.

She sings him songs, or tells him tales
Of “when she was a girl,” you know ;

And with delight that never fails,

Roy hears her talk of “long ago.”

  
    

“Some day,” says Roy, “when I’m a man, :
Dear mother, I'll take care cf you ;
And every single thing I can,
To please you, I will always do.”

fTelen Marion Burnside.