Put up thy work, dear mother;
Dear mother come with me,
For I’ve found within the garden,
The beautiful sweet-pea!
And rows of stately hollyhocks
Down by the garden-wall,
All yellow, white, and crimson,
So many-hued and tall!
And bending on their stalks, mother,
Are roses white and red;
And pale-stemmed balsams all a-blow,
On every garden-bed.
Put up thy work, I pray thee,
And come out, mother dear!
We used to buy these flowers,
But they are growing here!
Oh, mother! little Amy
Would have loved these flowers to see;—
Dost remember how we tried to get
For her a pink sweet-pea?
Dost remember how she loved
Those rose-leaves pale and sere?
I wish she had but lived to see
The lovely roses here!
Put up thy work, dear mother,
And wipe those tears away!
And come into the garden
Before ’tis set of day!