Oh, Brownie, our pony,
A gallant young steed,
Will carry us gaily
O'er hill, dale, and mead.
So sure is his foot,
And so steady his eye.
That even our baby
To mount him might try.
We haste to his stable
To see him each day,
And feed him with oats
And the sweetest of hay.
We pat his rough coat,
And we deck him with flowers,
Oh, never was seen
Such a pony as ours.