Rue de L'epicerie

The Cathedral was cold, With its dim solemn aisles, But outside our friends found The sun waiting, with smiles, To show them their way, So hither they came Along an old street With a hard French name.

And still walking onward, Through streets we can't see, At length reached the Creche Of "Soeur Rosalie"— Where poor women's children Are kept all day through, Amused, taught, and tended, And all for one sou.

Children are happy with "Sister" all day, Mothers can't nurse them—they work far away. Good Sister Rosalie, she is so kind, E'en when they're troublesome, she doesn't mind. Here in the first room the Babies we see, sitting at dejeuner round Rosalie.

Dodo is crying, he can't find his spoon—some one will find it and comfort him soon. Over yon cradle bends kind Sister Claire, Dear little Mimi is waking up there. Sister Felicite, sweetly sings she, "Up again, down again, Bebe, to me."

The school-room of the Creche is wide, The children sit there, side by side, While "Sister" hears their lessons through, And when there's no more work to do They all get up, and form a ring, And as they stand, together sing. Now hand in hand, tramp, tramp they go, Now in a line march to and fro, For with the rattle in her hand The "Sister" makes them understand When to advance and when draw back— Click-clack it goes, click-clack, click-clack. On Stephanie now turn your eyes, She's only five, but she's so wise— She knows the alphabet all through, And, more than that, can teach it too. Just now, she moves her wand to J, And tells the children what to say. But 'tis no use to tell Ninette, For she is but a bebe yet.