A LITTLE tot on papa's knee —
As sweet as any child can be;
And while he trots her up and down
It shakes her pretty golden crown;
And laughter writes upon her face
The joy she feels to ride the race.
The horse will shy and run away,
But when he stops you hear her say,
In such a sweet enticing way:
" Do 't again!
Do 't again! "

She 's grown a pretty little girl,
With just a little longer curl.
How gracefully she rides the swing,
So like a cherub on the wing.
A neighbor lad with prowess rare
Is motive power with strength to spare;
He runs beneath to push her high;
Meanwhile he " lets the old cat die, "
To hear with pride her pleading cry:
" Do 't again!
Do 't again! "

She 's older now and grown so fair
Small wonder people turn and stare;
But one alone her heart can thrill;
As taught in youth, she 's sitting still
Upon the knee, but you descry,
'T is not her father's, by the by.
A sweeter kiss, lip never bore;
He asks but one, and takes a score;
She sighing says, as learned of yore:
" Do 't again!