The Barnum & Bailey Greatest Show on Earth songster

SHOW ON EARTH SONGSTER ***

[Illustration: The Barnum & Bailey

Greatest Show on Earth

Songster]

CLOWN SONG BOOK.

IN A SNUG LITTLE HOME OF YOUR OWN.

Words and music by Felix McGlennon.

What are the fashions and follies of life! Only an empty dream; Only a burden of struggle and strife. As we drift adown the stream. A fig for your worldly pleasures, How very soon they cloy, But there ’mongst your sweet home treasures, You can find purest joy!

CHORUS.--In a snug little home of your own, A snug little home of your own, With smiling faces ’round, True happiness is found, In a snug little home of your own.

Seeking excitement, you often may go Out with the busy throng, And like a butterfly flit to and fro, As you sing a worldly song; When pleasure’s bright flame is burning, Into the blaze you fly, And then from temptation turning, For purer life you sigh.--CHORUS.

When honest love in your heart finds a place, Bright as the sun’s your life; Plans for the future, in fancy you trace, With a sweet and pure young wife, You’re hopefully, tenderly gazing Into futurity-- Bright castles in the air you’re building, Thinking when you will be--CHORUS.

Copyright, 1892, by FRANK TOUSEY. The complete words and music of this song will be sent by mail for 20 cents. Address, FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 34 and 36 North Moore Street, New York. Catalogues sent free upon application.

A DEAR LITTLE FACE AT THE WINDOW.

Written and composed by Charles L. Miller.

When homeward I stray at the close of the day, So wearied with labor and care, My heart soon grows light, with the vision so bright, Of the face that is waiting me there, As she stands in the window with mother close by, Who softly strokes each little curl; And soon as she sees me, so gladly she’ll cry, My own little dear baby girl!

CHORUS. ’Tis a dear little face at the window, With a smile and a heart full of glee; More precious than pearl, is my dear baby girl, Who waits at the window for me!

How often I’ve thought of the joy she has brought, To home and to mother and me, Of one tearful day, when in sickness she lay, And we missed her sweet laughter so free, But the kind angels left her to our care and love, To brighten our home here below; And naught here on earth, or in Heaven above, Can equal our treasure, I know!--CHORUS.

Copyright, 1893, by FRANK TOUSEY. The complete words and music of this song will be sent by mail for 10 cents. Address, FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 34 and 36 North Moore Street, New York. Catalogues sent free upon application.

I DO LOVE YOU!

Written and composed by Felix McGlennon.

Molly has climbed on her Dada’s knee, Molly has something to say; Only to whisper “I love you, Dad, And think of you all the day! When you go out in the morning, Dad, Ah, how I long for the night; Then you come home to your Molly dear, And the house seems so cheerful and bright.”

CHORUS. I do love you, I do love you, You’ve bought a dolly for your little Molly with hair so bright and eyes so blue; I’ll give you a kiss, a sweet little kiss, and may be I’ll give you two! Oh, my Daddy, my dear old Daddy, I do love you!

Molly has climbed on his shoulders broad, “Let us play horses, my Dad!” See how they scamper around the house, And Molly is oh, so glad! Slyly she peeps in his pockets then, Thinking that Dad cannot see; Ah, the young rogue knows there’s something there, And Molly is laughing with glee.--CHORUS.

Molly is tired of her romp at last, Dada must take her to bed, “Place little dolly beside me, please,” Now Molly her prayers has said. “Good-night, God bless you, my Dada dear, Kiss me, and kiss dolly too; I know you love little Molly, Dad, And you know that your Molly loves you.”--CHORUS.

Copyright, 1894, by FRANK TOUSEY. The complete words and music of this song will be sent by mail for 20 cents. Address, FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 34 and 36 North Moore Street, New York. Catalogues sent free upon application.

TO ERR IS HUMAN, TO FORGIVE DIVINE!

Written and composed by Felix McGlennon.

Craving, craving for pity, a brother stands Before the brother he wronged in days gone by; “Help me, help me, forgive all the painful past, I’m starving, brother, oh help me, or I die!” One is poor and lowly, one has shining gold, The wealthy brother looks with scornful eyes, Will he help the suppliant, will he e’er forgive? Oh! hearken to his words as he replies:

CHORUS. “I once was poor and struggling, you were honored in the land, I once was nearly starving, you had riches at command, I went to you so humbly, and I asked a helping hand, In my face you closed your door, oh, brother mine! Now I am rich and you are poor, shall I revengeful be? No! for the sake of old times when we prayed at mother’s knee, You’re still my brother, I’ll forgive, share my prosperity, To err is human, to forgive divine!”

Brooding, brooding, alone in a darkened room, A poor old father is mourning for his child; Sadly, sadly, he thinks of the daughter fair, Who by the tempter from home had been beguiled. His eyes grow hot with tears, his heart grows hot with rage, He thinks of how the base betrayer came; A knock! the door is opened, his erring child is there, And to the floor she sinks in abject shame.

CHORUS. “Begone and quit my sight,” he cries in accents stern and grim, “You’ve streaked my hair with grey that day you fled away with him, You broke your poor old mother’s heart, her eyes in death are dim, Begone, you are no longer child of mine!” But his heart goes back with anguish to the child that he loved best, The daughter fair and stainless ere she left the parent nest, And for her dear dead mother’s sake he clasps her to his breast, To err is human, to forgive divine!

Stitching, stitching, in poverty and in pain, A woman’s toiling to earn her children bread; Daily, hourly, the needle ne’er seems to tire, Ah! slaves must work and their children must be fed. See her drunken husband, staggering in the room, “Curse you, give me money, I must drink! Come, now give the money, money, quick I say!” A blow, a kick, unconscious see her sink.

CHORUS. In drink besotted madness he rains on her kicks and blows, Till she lies there slowly dying, soon will end her earthly woes, And she feebly murmurs, “Harry, oh it darker, darker grows!” Then she babbles of the love of “Auld Lang Syne.” Crash! the officers of justice burst the door into the room, Will she speak the word and send her husband to a murd’rer’s doom? No! she loves still and silent bears her secret to the tomb-- To err is human, to forgive divine!

Copyright, 1894, by FRANK TOUSEY. The complete words and music of this song will be sent by mail for 25 cents. Address, FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 34 and 36 North Moore Street, New York. Catalogues sent free upon application.

DON’T BEAR ANY ILL FEELING.

By Felix McGlennon.

When your angry passions rise, there’s a maxim you should prize, “Never let the sun go down upon your wrath,” Let your quarrels fade away ere there dawns another day, Let the sun of peace and love illume your path. It may be the friend of years who has grieved you with his sneers, And your temper may the flame of hate have fanned, But the promptings of your heart will compel you ere you part, To say, as you extend a friendly hand:

CHORUS. Don’t bear any ill feeling, forget and forgive, Shake hands, let us be friendly as long as we live, Life is too short for hatred, shake hands and don’t say “Nay,” Or you may plead for forgiveness yourself in vain some day.

You may have an only child who in life is growing wild, By companions from the straight path led astray, He may cause you dark disgrace, till you learn to hate his face, And with anger turn him from his home away, ’Neath a parent’s bitter frown he may sink still deeper down, Ah, but lift him up and give him one more chance, Take him to your heart again and forget the bitter pain, Take him back and he will plead with tearful glance.--CHORUS.

You may have a faithful wife, who is dearer far than life, Yet an angry word may rankle in her heart, Then your passions rise and rise, till the tears come in her eyes, And with hardened hearts you both decide to part, But a calm comes o’er the strife, as you gaze upon your wife, And your tho’ts go back to years of love and bliss, To the partner true and tried, ever faithful by your side, And you both plead for forgiveness with a kiss.--CHORUS.

Copyright, 1894, by FRANK TOUSEY. The complete words and music of this song will be sent by mail for 20 cents. Address, FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 34 and 36 North Moore Street, New York. Catalogues sent free upon application.

BACK TO THE OLD HOME AGAIN.

By Felix McGlennon.

There’s a place that will ne’er be forgotten by me, ’Tis the cottage wherein I was born, And though years have rolled on, yet in fancy I see It there ’mid the tall waving corn. ’Twas humble, ’twas lowly, but ah! it contained My nearest and dearest on earth, And where’er I go, I am longing to be Once more in the home of my birth.

CHORUS.--Back to the old home again, Down in the country lane, Back to the spot I’ve never forgot, Back to the old home again.

The green ivy clustered around the old walls, The breath of sweet flowers filled the air, The birds built their nests in the cosy thatched roof, Their songs drove away every care; I’d roam through the meadows, I’d climb o’er the hill, In childhood’s sweet innocent glee, My life was all sunshine, no sorrow or care, Oh, how I am longing to be: --CHORUS.

I’ve seen many lands, but no place seemed so fair As that dear little old-fashioned cot, I’ve made many friends, but my dear parents’ love I’ve never, no, never forgot. They’re anxiously waiting to welcome me home-- They’re eager their fond love to show-- I’m tired of the wand’rings and trials of life, And so once again I will go: --CHORUS.

Copyright, 1894, by FRANK TOUSEY, and entered at Stationers’ Hall, London, England. The complete words and music of this song will be sent by mail for 20 cents. Address, FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 34 and 36 North Moore Street, New York. Catalogues sent free upon application.

A BUNCH OF SHAMROCK FROM MY DEAR OLD MOTHER.

Words and music by Monroe H. Rosenfeld.

One day there came to me from far across the sea, A letter and its words I read with tears, It brought a gem so dear my lonely heart to cheer, And told of those I had not seen for years. They nevermore can part this treasure from my heart, It came from one who blessed it with a tear, It brought the joys of old, its hopes and bliss untold, This bunch of shamrock from my mother dear.

CHORUS. A bunch of shamrock from my dear old mother, A treasure dearer far than any other, Though faded it shall rest upon my loving breast, This bunch of shamrock from my dear old mother.

I see the cabin now, my mother’s saddened brow, I hear the voice that whispered sweet good-bye, “Remember, lad,” said she, “and true and honest be,” Her words within my heart can never die. Though oft the world is sad, my heart is ever glad, I roam the vales again with happy cheer, Ah, mem’ries sweet awake, when in my hand I take, This bunch of shamrock from my mother dear.--CHORUS.

That mother now is dead, but still the words she said, Will bloom within my heart like buds of spring, I know the daisies wave so gently o’er her grave, And ’round that spot the sweetest mem’ries cling. So dear to me shall be this gift from o’er the sea, And dearer far it grows from year to year, When life from me shall part I’ll keep upon my heart This bunch of shamrock from my mother dear.--CHORUS.

Copyright, 1890, by FRANK TOUSEY. The complete words and music of this song will be sent by mail for 10 cents. Address, FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 34 and 36 North Moore Street, New York. Catalogues sent free upon application.

THE KICK-UP-A-ROW BRIGADE.

Written by Harry Boden and Gus Williams. Composed by Felix McGlennon.

A week ago, this very night, with half a dozen more of good old pals--jolly old pals, We went up town, the usual place, for fun and jollity, The spot you know where fellows go when out upon a spree; Johnson we made leader of the band, He took us in hand, marched us off so grand, Arm in arm, we to each other clung, While every comic song he knew old Johnson loudly sung:

CHORUS. All of us did the same, All of us played the game; Every one was a good old chum, rum-ti-id-dly-um-ti-um! None of us cared a hang, How much noise we made, We were all boys, good boys, of the “Kick-up-a-row Brigade!”

We then went up the Bowery and soon were in the midst of all the fun--Bowery fun, It was both fast and furious, as you are well aware, We saw the elephant, the fox, the tiger and the bear, After which, the theatre we tried; Entrance was denied, we were put outside, Police then came to put matters right, When Johnson lost his temper and pulled off his coat to fight:--CHORUS.

For half an hour we had what anyone might call a friendly scrap--a playful scrap, And language sweet and beautiful ascended to the skies; We’d broken noses, ditto hats and numerous black eyes; To the station house we all were borne, Ragged, bruised and torn, and the Judge next morn, Scratched his head, on Johnson fixed his gaze, And said, “Ten dollars fine, or take the usual thirty days”:--CHORUS.

Copyright, 1894, by FRANK TOUSEY. Entered at Stationers’ Hall, London, England. The complete words and music of this song will be sent by mail for 20 cents. Address, FRANK TOUSEY, 34 and 36 North Moore Street, New York. Catalogues sent free upon application.

BABY’S PRAYER.

By Felix McGlennon. Arranged by Chas. Page.

Baby was up with the lark this morn, Laughing in childish glee, Romping and rolling around the house, Climbing on dada’s knee,

But the shades of night are falling, And baby is tired with play; Softly he’s creeping to mama’s side, Gently he kneels to pray.

REFRAIN.

God bless mamma, God bless dada, God teach baby to do right; I’m tired and I’m sleepy, put me in my cot, Mamma and dada, good-night.

Baby was up with the lark this morn, Coaxing for just one kiss, Filling with sunshine our humble home, Filling our hearts with bliss, Ah! we seemed to see a vision Of angels so bright and fair, Hov’ring around with protecting wings, List’ning to baby’s prayer.--REFRAIN.

Baby was up with the lark this morn, Filling our hearts with joy, Humbly we knelt and prayed to Heaven, “Spare us our baby boy, From the paths of sin, oh, save him, And guard him from every snare. Deign to look down in Thy infinite love, Hearken to baby’s prayer.”--REFRAIN.

Copyright, 1892, by FRANK TOUSEY. The complete words and music of this song will be sent by mail for 10 cents. Address, FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 34 and 36 North Moore Street, New York. Catalogues sent free upon application.

A PILLOW FOR THE WANDERER.

Words and music by J. P. Skelly.

There’s a pillow for the wand’rer who is roaming far away, A haven for his weariness, a balm for his dismay; A heart whereon to lay his head, to find a couch of rest, A mother waiting patiently, with welcome, pure and blest, Though he has slighted long her love, that love will e’er forgive, And still receive him in her arms as long as he shall live, The mother-heart is keeping yet, with hope from day to day, A pillow for the wanderer, whose feet have gone astray.

CHORUS.--There’s a light forever shining, Within the window-pane, To guide the weary prodigal, To home and love again, A tender welcome waits him, When at the door he’ll stand, And a pillow for the wanderer, Smoothed by a mother’s hand!

There is sunshine for the wanderer whom wildest storms assail, A little nook of quietness where never sweeps the gale; The world with all its fading joys can offer no repose, Like that which now is waiting him, to bless him till life’s close, A loving one has sighed for him, and watched for his return, The light of hope within her breast has never ceased to burn. What though the outer world condemn? a gentle hand has spread A pillow for the wanderer to rest his weary head.--CHORUS.

Copyright, 1891, by FRANK TOUSEY. The complete words and music of this song will be sent by mail for 10 cents. Address, FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 34 and 36 North Moore Street, New York. Catalogues sent free upon application.

A KISS FROM YOUR OWN DEAR WIFE.

Words and music by Gus Williams.

In this world I’ve had my pleasures, both upon the land and sea, Always looking upon the bright side, I’m contented as can be. All the joys of life I’ve tasted, nothing e’er has gone amiss, And the acme of enjoyment, simply lies in a sweet kiss!

CHORUS. A sweet little kiss when a baby You got from your mother dear, A kiss from the girl you loved when a boy, With love that was quite sincere; A kiss from the one you called sweetheart, While journeying on through life, But the sweetest of all that I can recall Is the kiss from your own dear wife.

There’s a kiss, the kiss of parting, an unwelcome sad embrace, Other kisses are all sweetness, as they happen in their place; What’s a kiss, what does it taste like, can you tell me, now I ask? Even Webster can’t define it, to describe it is a task!--CHORUS.

Copyright, 1893, by FRANK TOUSEY. The complete words and music of this song will be sent by mail for 20 cents. Address, FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 34 and 36 North Moore Street, New York. Catalogues sent free upon application.

HER PAPA WAS THERE!

By Felix McGlennon. Arranged by Monroe H. Rosenfeld.

I went to see my best girl, One lovely evening, one lovely evening, My head was in a whirl As I approached her front door. At the window she was sitting there, And she looked so good, so pure and fair, And she smiled on me, I bowed, that’s all, But I must admit that I did not call.

CHORUS. For her papa was there, her papa was there, I saw his tin whiskers and bald head of hair, He’s a foot that can kick and a tongue that can swear, So I didn’t call, for her papa was there!