1 Oh, sweet are the tho'ts of our childhood,
They come in the stillness of night;
They bring back the cot in the wildwood,
And the brook with its waters so bright.
The birds that awake us so early,
With their songs in the old maple tree,
The blossoms with dew drops so pearly,
They return in the stillness to me.

2 Oh, that was the freshness of springtime,
No tho'ts of the winter invade;
No weariness then tolled its sad chimes,
Or dull care on our pathway had laid.
We wandered in joyfulness ever,
Where in dreams now of purest delight,
From labor our tho'ts we can sever,
And return in the stillness of night.