If Peepy had lived,' the mother sighed,

' He'd be of age to-day.'

She bowed her head as she softly cried

The head that was turning grey.
Now, one would think that Peepy was dead,

Underneath the snow :
One would think that Peepy was dead

Since seventeen years ago.

'Tis true that they hid poor Peepy away,

Down in the churchyard green,
And ever since that pitiful day

Peepy 's never been seen.
No one has seen his curly head

Or heard his laughter flow ;
But it doesn't follow that Peepy 's been dead

Since seventeen years ago !

They laid his toddling feet to rest ;

They folded his fingers, small,
Around the lily upon his breast ;

Then laid him away that's all.
They curtained his vacant trundle bed

In his little room of woe ;
They really thought that Peepy was dead

Seventeen years ago.

But it wasn't Peepy they put to stay
Under the church yard sod

He 's young and gay and strong to-day

Up in the realms of God.
He walks in the light by the Savior's side,

The Savior that loved him so.
So it 's folly to think that Peepy died

Seventeen years ago.

His form returned to its mother mold

But his soul began to grow
This is the story an angel told

And I'm sure these things are so.
Creeds and churches bother my head

But this one thing I know
It isn't true that Peepy 's been dead

Since seventeen years ago !