: Life of Lord Byron Vol. 3 With His Letters and Journals by Moore Thomas - Poets English 19th century Biography; Byron George Gordon Byron Baron 1788-1824

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CLOWN SONG BOOK.

IN A SNUG LITTLE HOME OF YOUR OWN.

Words and music by Felix McGlennon.

What are the fashions and follies of life! Only an empty dream; Only a burden of struggle and strife. As we drift adown the stream. A fig for your worldly pleasures, How very soon they cloy, But there 'mongst your sweet home treasures, You can find purest joy!

CHORUS.--In a snug little home of your own, A snug little home of your own, With smiling faces 'round, True happiness is found, In a snug little home of your own.

Seeking excitement, you often may go Out with the busy throng, And like a butterfly flit to and fro, As you sing a worldly song; When pleasure's bright flame is burning, Into the blaze you fly, And then from temptation turning, For purer life you sigh.--CHORUS.

When honest love in your heart finds a place, Bright as the sun's your life; Plans for the future, in fancy you trace, With a sweet and pure young wife, You're hopefully, tenderly gazing Into futurity-- Bright castles in the air you're building, Thinking when you will be--CHORUS.

A DEAR LITTLE FACE AT THE WINDOW.

Written and composed by Charles L. Miller.

When homeward I stray at the close of the day, So wearied with labor and care, My heart soon grows light, with the vision so bright, Of the face that is waiting me there, As she stands in the window with mother close by, Who softly strokes each little curl; And soon as she sees me, so gladly she'll cry, My own little dear baby girl!

CHORUS. 'Tis a dear little face at the window, With a smile and a heart full of glee; More precious than pearl, is my dear baby girl, Who waits at the window for me!

How often I've thought of the joy she has brought, To home and to mother and me, Of one tearful day, when in sickness she lay, And we missed her sweet laughter so free, But the kind angels left her to our care and love, To brighten our home here below; And naught here on earth, or in Heaven above, Can equal our treasure, I know!--CHORUS.

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