When you hear a fearful racket

Like a miniature cyclone

With some sounds so strange that surely

Their like was ever known

While a Mother listens calmly

Even with a smiling face

You may know it's nothing serious

There are boys about our place

When there's famine in the cupboard

And the milk pail soon runs dry

And we can't keep bread or cookies

No matter how we try

When we vainly seek for apples

That have gone and left no trace

Hard times is not the trouble -

There are boys about the place

When there's sawdust on the carpet

And some shavings on the beds

When the rugs are tossed in corners

And some chairs stand on their heads

While, if a tool we're needing, we

All around the house must race,

We can know they're making something

These boys about the place

When the house is full of sunshine

On the darkest kind of day,

And we have to smile at seeing

Some creative, boyish play

And when eyes so bright and loving

Oft are raised to meet my face

My heart pleads softly "O, God bless him

Bless those boys about the place."

~ Author Unknown