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Then, too, when the work in the field was o'er, While heavier chores were done By older men, I trudged along, In the path of the setting sun, Calling, "Co' bos! co' bos! co' bos!"

And often the baby stars Played hide-and-seek from behind a cloud, Ere I left the pasture bars.

No more do I hear in the city's din, (And never shall I again), The country sounds in the early morn, As I trudged a-down the lane; But I hope as I near the sunset hour, No sorrow my pathway mars, Greater than that when I called "Co' bos!"



As a boy by the pasture bars!

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