We had seven birthdays in the year;
We kept them all wiht merry cheer,
For father, mother and sisters three,
For brother Alfred, and for me.
Some came round with the winter’s snows,
Some with midsummer and with rose,
Some at the time when the brown leaves fall,
But there were games and gifts for all.
Father’s was kept with home brewed ale,
Mother’s was kept with talk and tale,
Sisters’ were kept with frills and frocks,
Alfred’s and mine with woodland walks.
‘Tis long ago, and the churchyard yew
Bends o’er father and mother too;
Brother and sisters all have grown,
To troubles, and houses of their own.
The years are busy, the world is wide,
We have scattered far from the old fireside.
Some mind the ledger, some mind the plough
But where are the seven brave birthdays now?