Look out, my dear, how fast it rains,
Pelting upon the window panes!
We'll shut them till the storm is o'er,
Lest it should rain upon the floor.
When all above seems clear and dry,
Again we'll throw the windows high;
The shower makes all look green and fair,
And wholesome is the freshen'd air.
Come, Harry, get his ball the while—
(Harry loves play, it makes him smile.)
We'll roll it on the floor, and then
Quickly we'll fetch it back again.
And, if I think his looks betray
Some anxious wish for change of play,
We'll try a hundred little tricks,
We'll fetch his horse, his cart, his bricks;
And, when he seems well pleas'd, we'll strive
To keep good-temper all alive:
With kindness and obliging aim
I'll join in every childish game,
Nor interrupt with thoughtless air,
Aught that has claim'd my Harry's care.