THE LITTLE BOY SCOUT.
The little Boy Scout goes marching out In a khaki suit of tan, And a broad felt hat with a silver cord, Just like a grown-up man. He feels so big as he swings along In step with the line of boys, That he knows he never again will cry Or play with his childish toys.
The little Boy Scout is only eight. And his eyes are blue and bright; His mother kisses and tucks him up In his pretty white bed each night. Tramp, tramp, tramp, on the weary road, Hr is tired, and hungry too, But to fall behind in the dusty march Is not what a man would do.
The little Boy Scout is home again; To bed in the dark he goes, No more afraid of the bogey-bears That iurk on the stairs, he knows. He has learned to conquer the pain of life. As onl\ a brave hear! can. And his mother steals to his cot to say.
‘Good night, my dear little man.” —Selected
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/periodicals/WHIRIB19190618.2.19
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White Ribbon, Volume 24, Issue 288, 18 June 1919, Page 7
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174THE LITTLE BOY SCOUT. White Ribbon, Volume 24, Issue 288, 18 June 1919, Page 7
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