What music like the whistle of a well-contented boy, —
That rhythmic exhalation of an ever-present joy?
Though the fragmentary cadence of a plain, untutored art,
'T is the melody of childhood, 't is a psalm from out the heart.
You will never find a criminal behind an honest smile;
And the boy ne'er grows a villain who keeps whistling all the while, —
Though he whistle out of tune.

What cares he for fickle fortune, — what the fashion may bestow?
In his little barefoot kingdom royalty in rags may go.
With an apple in his pocket and another in his mouth,
Cares not how the wind is blowing, whether north or whether south;
For he has no crops a-growing, has no ships upon the sea;
And he keeps right on a-whistling, whate'er the tune may be, —
For he whistles out of tune.

'T is the early smile of Summer creeping o'er the face of June,
Even though this crude musician many times is off the tune,
Till it bears the same resemblance to the melody that 's meant,
That his garments do to trousers little matter how they 're rent.
When he 's very patriotic then his tune is sure to be —
Although a bit rebellious — " My Country, 'T is of Thee! "
Which he whistles out of tune:
[ America. ]

Such a vision of good nature in his cheery, smiling face;
Better clothes would check his freedom, rob him of his rustic grace;
So he feels a trifle awkward in his brand-new Sunday clothes,
While repeating to his teacher all the Scripture that he knows.
Out of Sunday school he rushes, takes his shoes off on the sly;
Says: " The angels all go barefoot in the sweeter by and by! "
Which he whistles out of tune:
[ Sweet By and By. ]

Sometimes whistling for his playmate; sometimes whistling for his dog,
On the quiet, in the schoolhouse, to perplex the pedagogue;
Sometimes whistling up his courage; often whistling just because .
In the South he whistles " Dixie " o'er and o'er, without a pause,
Till he 's out of breath completely, when it seems to be, perchance,
But a knickerbocker whistle, since it comes in little pants, —
For he whistles out of tune:
[ Dixie. ]

Should he hail from old New England you may safely bet your life
He can whittle out a whistle with his broken-bladed knife.
He will play his cornstalk fiddle and his dog will never fail
To show appreciation, beating tempo with his tail;
Then he whistles " Yankee Doodle " like the tunes you often hear
On the old farmhouse piano when the sister plays by ear,
For he whistles out of tune:
[ Yankee Doodle. ]

There is many a weeping mother longing, morning, night, and noon,
For her boy to come back whistling just the fragment of a tune;
But he 's yonder entertaining all the angels unaware
With a melody so human they are bound to keep him there;
For of all that heavenly music nothing sounds to them so sweet
As that cheery, boyish whistle and the patter of his feet, —
For he whistles all in tune:
[ Nearer, My God, to Thee .]