By Parcels Post, A Domestic Idyll

I sent my love a parcel         In the days when we were young,     Or e'er by care and trouble         Our heart-strings had been wrung.     By parcels post I sent it,         What 'twas I do not know,     In the days when we were courting,         A long time ago.     The spring-time waxed to summer,         Then autumn leaves grew red,     And in the sweet September         My love and I were wed.     But though the Church had blessed us,         My little wife looked glum;     I'd posted her a parcel,         And the parcel hadn't come.     Ah, many moons came after,         And then there was a voice,     A little voice whose music         Would make our hearts rejoice.     And, singing to her baby,         My dear one oft would say,     "I wonder, baby darling,         Will that parcel come to-day?"     The gold had changed to silver         Upon her matron brow;     The years were eight-and-twenty         Since we breathed our marriage vow,     And our grandchildren were playing         Hunt-the-slipper on the floor,     When they saw the postman standing         By our open cottage door.     Then they ran with joy to greet him,         For they knew he'd come at last;     They had heard me tell the story         Very often in the past.     He handed them a parcel,         And they brought it in to show,     'Twas the parcel I had posted         Eight-and-twenty years ago.