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~~~~From the web for the Troops~~~~

Whistling Boy

When the curtain of night, 'tween the dark and the light,
Drops down from the set of the sun,
And the toilers who roam, to the loved ones come home,
As they pass by my window is one
Whose coming I mark, for the song of the lark
As it joyously soars in the sky
Is no dearer to me than the notes, glad and free,
Of the boy who goes whistling by.

If a sense of unrest settles over my breast
And my spirit is clouded with care,
It all flies away if he happens to stray
Past my window a-whistling an air.
And I never shall know how much gladness I owe
To this joy of the ear and the eye,
But I'm sure I'm in debt for much pleasure I get
To the boy who goes whistling by.

And this music of his, how much better it is
Than to burden his life with a frown,
For the toiler who sings to his purposes brings
A hope his endeavor to crown.
And whenever I hear his glad notes, full and clear,
I say to myself I will try
To make all of life with a joy to be rife,
Like the boy who goes whistling by.

Nixon Waterman