SERVANT GIRLS-Continued

I should say it is. Say, can you keep a secret?
Oh, yes, I can keep anything.

Well, I am going to be married tonight.
Well, good luck to you.

All right.

Victor Record 17612

SWEET COOKIE MINE

When I was young I loved my lollipops,

To me they were a treat,

I loved my honey jam and chocolate drops,
Until I found a sweet more sweet.

'Cause you're the sweetest thing I ever knew,
And I've looked all around

To find a name that's sweet enough for you,
And, honey, this is what I found.

Chorus:

When I look in your eyes here's what I'm thinking of,
Sweet cookie, sweet cookie,

If you were only wise you'd know the sweet I love,
Sweet cookie mine.

Sometimes I feel I could steal as I did long before

When I stole Ma's cookies from behind the pantry door,
And some day soon I feel that I'll steal just one more sweet

cookie,

Sweet cookie mine-sweet cookie mine.

I loved sweet cookies since I was a child,

And always got my fill,

Sweet cookie always sort of makes me wild,

And now I know they always will.

I've called my beaux some pretty names, that's true,

You should have seen them fall,

But this is one that I have saved for you

'Cause it's the sweetest name of all.

Victor Record 18350

Used by permission, words and music copyright 1917 by

Frank K. Root & Co., Chicago, Ill.

SOLDIER REST

“Lady of the Lake”

Scott

Soldier, rest! Thy warfare o'er

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Dream of battle fields no more,

Days of danger, nights of waking, In our isles enchanted hall,

Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fancy strains of music fall,

Every sense in slumber dewing.

Soldier, rest! Thy warfare o'er,
Dream of fighting fields no more.
Sleep the sleep that knows no breaking,
Morn of toil nor night of waking.

No rude sounds shall reach thine ear,
Armour's clang or war steed champing,
Trump nor pibrock summon here,

Mustering clan or squadron tramping,
Yet the lark's shrill fife may come
At daybreak from the fallow

And the bittern sounds his drum,

Booming from the sedgy shallow.
Ruder sounds shall not be near,
Guards nor warders challenge here.

Here's no war steeds' neigh and champing,
Shouting clans or squadrons stamping.

Huntsman, rest! the chase is done,

While our slumbrous spells assail ye; Dream not with the rising sun,

Bugles here shall sound reveille.

Sleep! the deer is in his den,

Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying,
Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen,
How thy gallant steed lay dying.
Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done,
Think not of the rising sun;
For at dawning to assail ye,
Here no bugles sound reveille.

Victor Record 17987

VILLAGE BLACKSMITH

Longfellow

Under the spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles on his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is crisp, and black and long,
His face is like the tan;

His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate'er he can;

And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.

Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell
When the evening sun is low.

And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door,

They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,

And watch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.

He goes on Sunday to his church
And sits among his boys,

He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,

Singing in the village choir,

And it makes his heart rejoice.

It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise!

He needs must think of her once more How in the grave she lies;

And with his hard rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes.

VILLAGE BLACKSMITH-Continued

Toiling-rejoicing-sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.

Thanks, thanks, to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;

Then on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought!

Victor Record 18161

SERENADE

Schubert

Through the leaves the night winds moving,

Murmur low and sweet!

To the chamber window roving,
Love hath led my feet.

Silent prayers of blissful feeling,
Link us though apart,

On the breath of music stealing,
To thy dreaming heart.

Moonlight on the earth is sleeping,
Winds are rustling low;

Where the darling streams are creeping,

Dearest, let us go.

All the stars keep watch in heaven,

While I sing to thee,

And the light for love was given,

Dearest, come to me.

Chorus:

Sadly in the forest mourning,
Wails the whippoorwill,

And the heart for thee is yearning,
Bid it, love, be still.

Columbia Record 5799

"Tis but a little faded flow'r,
But, ah! how fondly dear,

"Twill bring me back one golden hour
Through many a weary year.

Where is the heart that doth not keep
Within its inmost care

Some fond remembrance, hidden deep

Of days that are no more.

Who hath not saved some trifling thing,

More prized than jewels rare?

A faded flow'r, a broken ring,

A tress of golden hair.

Used by permission of Wm. A. Pond & Co., 18 West 37th St., New York City. Full words and music from the owners. Columbia Record 5846