— — ;. ..... t^M&A PipS r ' b ■VMUJj r*^^.' r*^c! P*Ms5j l^NJ WtLtiiik Wi.-^iA w&<\ A H m m "°\ m * wm- £S IcH' Mjp^ ' : ill ■■ C6e Library of tpe Ontoeusitp of Bout Carolina W&i& book toag presented Mrs. P. K. Calvert UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL 00022094822 9B«f9) t This BOOK may be kept out TWO WEEKS ONLY, and is subject to a fine of FIVE CENTS a day thereafter. It was taken out on the day indicated below: KORT School c-f Library' Science 3-ri 1 3L/f Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2012 with funding from University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill http://www.archive.org/details/childrensbookofpcoat THE Children's Book of Poetry. f 5* J2 S- ■* Dear ladies,' she cries, and the tears trickle down, ' Relieve a poor beggar, I pray.' " See page 11&. THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY: CAREFULLY SELECTED FROM THE WORKS OF THE BEST AND MOST POPULAR WRITERS FOR CHILDREN. BY HEN RY T. COATES, EDITOR OF THE " FIRESIDE ENCYCLOPAEDIA OF POETRY." ILLUSTRATED WITH NEARLY 200 ENGRAVINGS. FROM DESIGNS BY GUSTAVE DORE, HARRISON WEIR, J. E. MILLAIS. GEORGE H. THOMAS, GIACOMELLI, AND OTHER DISTINGUISHED ARTISTS. PORTER & COATES, PHILADELPHIA. COPYRIGHT, Henry T. Coates, 1879. Westcott & Thomson, Henry B. Ashmead, Stereotyptrs and Electratypers, Philada. Printer, Philada. PREFACE. To collect within the limits of a single volume the poems best calcu- lated to interest and instruct children between the ages of six and four- teen has been the aim of the compiler of this work. There are, it is true, many and admirable collections now before the public, but none of them seems so comprehensive and varied in cha- racter as to satisfy the wants of an intelligent child. In some of them the editors have apparently labored under the impression that poems writ- ten about children are written especially for children, and consequently have admitted much that is beyond the mental capacity of a child ; while in others the effort to attain simplicity has often resulted in producing a mass of trivial and insipid pieces. Again, some have rejected old and well-established favorites because their literary merits are not up to the present high standard; but the fact that they are favorites proves that they possess some power or merit that makes them worthy to be included in a comprehensive collection. The main objection, however, to most collections of poetry for children, is the paucity of narrative poems they contain. Story -telling is, and ever must be, one of the greatest pleasures of childhood, and the most effect- ive means of inculcating great truths and conveying instruction to the youthful mind ; and for this reason many poems of a narrative character have been admitted, which, if judged solely on their literary merits, would not have found a place in these pages. For greater convenience, the poems have been arranged under appropri- ate subject-headings, such as " Baby-Days," " Play-Days," " Lessons of Life," " Animals and Birds," " Trees and Flowers," " Nature," " Religion," " Christ- mas and New Year," " Old Tales and Ballads," and " Some Famous Poems for the Older Children." In " Old Tales and Ballads " it has been thought 5011G3 PREFACE. advisable to include a few of the famous old English ballads, such as " Chevy Chase " and " The Heir of Linne," which are written in such a simple style that they can be easily understood by the older children, and their narrative character makes them attractive and interesting to all. In these the modern spelling has been used. In " Some Famous Poems for the Older Children " have been included a few of those poems that, either by their vivid description or by the power they possess of appealing to the hearts of the young as well as the old, will be found in nearly all collections of poetry, and which, while they may for the time be beyond the comprehension of some children, will some day be prized by them as they are by their eldeflfT The Editor trusts that in offering this book to children he not only adds to their present enjoyment, but gives them a treasure they will ever prize — a delight and a constant companion in childhood, a pleasant re- membrance in after-years. Philadelphia, September 29, 1879. Index of the Names of the Poems, ALPHABETICALLY ARRANGED. Page Abou Ben* Adhem...... Leigh Hunt. 517 About the Fairies "Rhyme and Reason." 452 Adelgitha Thomas Campbell. 487 Adventures of Robinson Crusoe 458 Alexander Selkirk, Verses supposed to be written by William Cowper. 464 All have Work to do R. P. S. 117 All Things Beautiful John Keble. 279 America Samuel F. Smith. 50S American Flag Joseph Rodman Drake. 507 Among the Animals Mary Mapes Dodge. 47 Annie 39 Annie and Willie's Prayer. ...Sojjhia P. Snow. 404 Another Little Wa,ve. Lucy Evelina Akerman. 15 Another Plum Cake Jane Taylor. 132 Answer to a Child's Question, S. T. Coleridge. 234 Apple Tree, The Jane Taylor. 121 April's Trick R. P. Utter. 308 Arab's Farewell to his Horse, The, C. Norton. ISO Ariel's Songs William Shakesjjeare. 430 Autumn Mrs. Hawtrcy. 325 Babes in the Wood, The 456 Babie, The /. E. Rankin. 30 Baby Jane Taylor. 16 Baby, The Elizabeth W. Townsend. 17 Baby Birds 232 Baby-Land George Cooper. 27 Baby May William Cox Bennett. 19 Baby Paul., Mrs. Bishop Tho?npson. 31 Baby's Complaint L. J. H. 23 Ballad of Chevy-Chase 479 1 Page Battle of Blenheim, The Robert Southey. 500 Beautiful Grandmamma Mary A. Denison. 70 Bed-time Story, The Clara Doty Bates. 388 Bees, The Hastings' Nursery Songs. 274 Beggar-Boy, The Child's Book of Poetry. 135 Beggar-Girl, The 139 Beggar-Man, The Lucy Aiken. 133 Beggar's Petition, The Thomas Moss. 135 Bells, The Edgar Allan Poe. 512 Benny Annie Chambers-Ketchum. 408 Be Polite S6 Bessie Bell Youth's Penny Gazette. 106 Beth-Gelert William Robert Spencer. 195 Better Land, The Felicia Hemans. 375 Beware of the Wolf A. L. O. E. 475 Bird and the Maid, The 230 Bird's-eye View, A. 230 Birds in Summer Mary Howitt. 228 Bird's Nest, The Alexander Smart. 237 Birds' Nests M.S. C. 231 Bishop Hatto Robert Southey. 464 Blind Boy, The C. Cibber. 151 Blind Boy, The Hannah F. Gould. 151 Blind Boy, The ■ Rev. Dr. Haicks. 150 Blind Man, The 152 Blind Steed, The (from the German), Rev. C. T. Brooks. 1S2 Blue-Bird, The Emily Huntington Miller. 245 Bonnie Milk-Cow, The. Alexander Smart. 185 Boy and Lark Lydia H. Sigourney. 254 Boy and the Ass, The 185 Boy and the Robin, The, Rey. F. C. Woodworth. 23S Boy's Complaint about Butter C. Gilman. 115 1 INDEX OF THE NAMES OF THE POEMS. Page Boys' Play and Girls' Play Mrs. Hawlrey. 60 Boy's Song James Hogg. 318 Boy's Wish, The 105 Boy who Told a Lie, A 113 Brook, The 335 Bruce and the Spider Bernard Barton. 487 Burial of Moses, The. Cecil Frances Alexander. 389 Burial of Sir John Moore Charles Wolfe. 505 Busy Little Husbandman 169 Buttercups and Daisies Mary Hoioitt. 287 Butterfly Blue and Grasshopper Yellow, 01 ire A. Wadsioorth. 271 Butterfly's Ball, The William Koscoe. 272 Camel, The ..Mary Hoioitt. 179 Captain's Daughter, The James T. Fields. 163 Casabianca Felicia Hemans. 163 Castles in the Air James Ballantyne. 77 Cataract of Lodore, The Robert Southey. 341 Catching the Cat Margaret Vandegrift. 223 Cat's Apology, The 225 Cat's Thanksgiving Day, The, Youth's Companion. 218 Chameleon, The James Merrick. 514 Charge of the Light Brigade, The, Alfred Tennyson. 500 Charley and his Father Eliza Fallen. 325 Charlotte Pulteney, To Ambrose Philips. 26 Chatterbox, The Jane Taylor. 112 Cherries are Bipe Hastings' Nursery Songs. 293 Chevy-Chase, Ballad of 479 Chickens, The D. A. T. 258 Child and the Star, The C. B. 349 Children in the Wood, The 456 Children's Hour, The H. W. Longfellow. 55 Children's Praises 373 Child's Desire, The Mrs. Luke. 363 Child's Evening Prayer, A....S. T. Coleridge. 370 Child's Prayer, A "Household Words." 36S Child's Thought of God, A...E. B. Browning. 356 Child's Wish in June;, The... Caroline Oilman. 322 Chimney-Tops ....Marian Douglas. 302 Choiceof Occupations Caroline Oilman. 169 Choosing a Name Mary Lamb. 22 Christmas Rose Terry Cooke. 401 Christmas Mrs. Hawtrey. 401 Christmas Bells 403 Christmas Tree 393 Cinderella 452 Clean Clara "Lilliput Levee." 142 Cleopatra Edgar Fawcett. 218 Clocking Hen, The Aunt Effie's Rhymes. 257 Cobweb made to Order, A. .Aunt Effie's Rhymes. 268 Page Come here, Little Robin "Easy Poetry." 239 Come into the Meadows 323 Comforter, A Adelaide Anne Procter. 51 Common Things 314 Complaints of the Poor, The. .Robert Southey. 137 Convalescent 373 Corn 291 Counting Baby's Toes 25 Country Lad and the River, The Cow-Boy's Song, The Anna M. Wells. Cradle Hymn Isaac Watts. Cradle Song Mary M. Boioen. Cradle Song (from the German)....^ Prentiss. Creep before you Walk James Ballantyne. Crow and the Cheese, The Crow's Children, The Phoebe Cary. Dame Duck's Lecture Aunt Effie's Rhymes. Dead Doll, The Margaret Vandegrift. Dear Old Flo S. J.Stone. Deeds of Kindness '. Destruction of Sennacherib, The.. Lord Byron. Discontent Sarah O. Jewett. Discontented Yew Tree, The, "Lilliput Levee." Diverting History of John Gilpin, The, William Cowper. Doctor's Visit Dog of St. Bernard's, The Miss Fry. Dog of St. Bernard's, The Dogs' Christmas Dinner, TA)e....K. T. Woods. Doll-baby Show George Cooper. Don't Wake the Baby Dragon-Fly, The Mary Hoioitt. Dream about the Old Nursery-Rhymes, A, M. H. F. D. Dream of Summer, A Mary N. Prescott. 335 186 364 34 30 27 252 252 261 45 199 88 501 108 293 491 43 193 193 417 45 34 275 421 321 Early Rising Lady Flora Hastings. 318 Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog, Oliver Goldsmith. 497 Elephant and the Child, The 178 Epitaph on a Hare William Cowper. 205 Evening Hymn Mary Lundie Duncan. 368 Evening Prayer for a Young Child 368 Every Little Helps 308 Eyes of the Angels, The. ...George W. Doane. 350 Fairies, The William Allingham. 451 Fairies of the Caldon Low, The....M. Howitt. 450 .Fjiith in God Rev. Dr. Hawks. 379 Farewell, A Charles Kingsley. 174 Farm, The Ja-'e Taylor. 171 INDEX OF THE NAMES OF THE POEMS. Page Farm-yard Song John T. Trowbridge. 172 Father at Play Hannah More Johnson. 40 Father is Coming Mary Howitt. 66 Fete-Day of the Flowers. The 284 Few Stray Sunbeams, A Eliza S. Turner. 312 Filial Trust 164 Five Things S3 Flowers 2S5 Fly, The Bruce. 266 Fly, The Theodore Tilton. 265 Forest Scene in the Days of Wiekliffe, A 382 For the Children 355 Fountain, The James Russdl Lowell. 333 Four Seasons, The 297 Four Seasons, The 299 Frog he would a-wooing Go, A 264 Frogs at School George Cooper. 265 Frost, The Hannah F. Gould. 326 Gardener's Grandchild, The.. J/rs. Hawtrey. 281 German Watchman's Song 376 Glove and the Lions, The Leigh Hunt. 504 God is Good 357 God of my Childhood, The F. W.Faber. 35S Going into Breeches Mary Lamb. 80 Golden Hair F. B urge Smith. 72 Golden-tressed Adelaide B. W. Procter. 40 Gold Robin, The, ''Home Songs for our Nestlings." 240 Good-Morning to God Mary T Hamlin. 372 Good Name, A 83 Good-Night 351 Good-Night Eliza Fallen. 370 Good-Night 371 Good-Night 372 Good-Night and Good-Morning.^. M. Milnes. 350 Good Rule, A 84 Good Sabbath, A 379 Good Shepherd, The 366 Gradation 257 Grandmothers, Johnny's opinion oLE.L. Beers. 71 Grandmother's Farm 170 Grandpapa's Spectacles Elizabeth Sill. 73 Grasshopper and the Ant, The 274 Great Brown Owl, The... Aunt Effie's Rhymes. 251 Hang up the Baby's Stocking.ZiWe Corporal. 393 Heavenly Father, The 357 Heir of Linne 483 Hellvellyn Sir Walter Scott. 509 Help the Poor 13S Hetty and the Fairies Matthias Barr. 448 Hohenlinden Thomas Campbell. 506 Tage Hold fast what I Give you Lily Warner. 49 Holidays, The Jane Taylor. 126 Honest Poverty Robert Burns. 51S Honey-Bee's Song, The 269 How doth the Little Busy Bee..../««ac Watts. 266 How Sleep the Brave William Collins. 505 How they Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix Robert Browning. 495 Hymn — " I want to be like Jesus " 373 Hymn of a Child Charles Wesley. 367 Idle Anna 116 I like Little Pussy Jane Taylor. 211 Ill-natured Brier, The Anna Bache. 290 I Love them All 299 I Love to Tell the Story.." Sunday at Nome." 363 Inehcape Rock, The Robert Southey. 498 Incident of the French Camp..../?. Browning. 16S In the Closet ..Laura E. Richards. 65 In the Cornfield 314 Is the Moon made of Green Cheese? Nicholas Nichols. 346 It Snows Hannah F. Gould. 329 It Snows 330 I want to be an Angel Sidney P. Gill. 374 I will not be Afraid 379 Jeannette and Jo Mary Mapes Dodge. 98 Jem and the Shoulder of Mutton... J. Taylor. 131 Jesus, see a Little Child Matthias Barr. 368 Jesus sees You 367 John Gilpin, The Diverting History of, William Cowper. 491 Katv's Guess 258 Kitten and the Falling Leaves, The, William Wordsworth. 216 Kitten Gossip Thomas Westwood. 224 Kittie to Kriss 407 Kitty Marian Douglas. 106 Kitty in the Basket Eliza Pollen. 209 Knights of the Cross A. L. O. E. 384 Lady-Bird, To the Caroline B. Southey. 274 Lady-Bird and the Ant, The.i. H. Sigourney. 270 Lady Clare Alfred Tennyson. 511 Lady Moon Richard Monckton Milnes. 346 Lamb. The William Blake. 192 Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers. The. Felicia D. Hemans. 506 Lark, To the 256 Lark and the Rook, The 256 Last Day of the Year, The A. Smart. 418 INDEX OF THE NAMES OF THE POEMS. Page Last Dying Speech and Confession of Poor Puss Jane Taylor. 220 Lazy Boy, The j 116 Lazy Jane " Lullabies and Ditties." 118 Learn your Lesson Alexander Smart. 9S Leaves and the Wind, The George Cooper. 304 Let Dogs delight to Bark and Bite.../. Watte. Letting the Old Cat Die. .Mary Mapes Lodge. Lily-of-the- Valley, The."Rhyme and Reason." 286 Lily's Ball 286 Lion, The Mary Howitt. 177 Little Bell T. Westwood. 128 Little Birdie Alfred Tennyson. 28 Little Bird's Complaint to his Mistress, The, Jane Taylor. 235 Little Boy and the Sheep, The,,. Ann Taylor. 192 Little Boy and the Stars, The, Aunt Effie's Rhymes. 348 Little by Little Luella Clark. 86 Little Children, Love one Another.vLoit Mary. 53 Little Christel "Lilliput Levee." 95 Little Dandelion Helen Louisa Bostwick. 288 Little Drummer, The. .. Richard H. Stoddard. 166 Little Fingers "Apples of Gold." 58 Little Fish, The 276 Little Girl's Address to the River, The, Susan Jewett. 338 Little Girl's Fancies, A , 280 Little Girl's Letter, A Wisconsin Farmer. 41 Little Goose, A Eliza Sprout Turner. 68 Little Gretchen Hans Christian Andersen. 410 Little Hare, The Aunt Effie's Rhymes. 206 Little Harry's Letter 3S0 Little Helpers , 57 Little Kit .....John G. Watts. 213 Little Lucy , A. D. F. Randolph. 381 Little Maiden and the Little. Bird, The, Lydia Maria Child. 230 Little Marian's Pilgrimage 89 Little Ned and the Shower 311 Little Pet, The '^-Little Corporal." 38 Little Raindrops Aunt Effie's Rhymes. 312 Little Red Riding-Hood..., 472 Little Samuel 378 Little Schooner, The, "Poems Written for a Child." 158 Little Star t 348 Little Story, A Hester A. Benedict. 78 Little Sweet Pea R. P. Utter. 2S9 Little Things Brewer. 86 Little White Lily George Macdonald. 284 Lochinvar Sir Walter Scott. 502 LordUllin's Daughter Thomas Campbell. 503 Page Loss of the Royal George, The.... 17. Cowper. 499 Lost Doll, The Charles Kingsley. 42 Love One Another 94 Lucy Gray William Wordsworth. 148 Lullaby Shirley Bare. 33 Lullaby Thomas Dekker. 31 Lulu's Complaint 17 Mabel on Midsummer Day Mary Howitt. 430 Making Mud-pies 54 Mamma's Kisses 52 Marjorie's Almanac... Thomas Bailey Aldrich. 302 Mary had a Little Lamb 189 Mary's Pet Matthias Barr. 243 Meddlesome Matty Jane Taylor. 110 Milkmaid, The Jeffreys Taylor. Ill Milkmaid, The 174 Miller of Dee, The Charles Mackay. 103 Minna in Wonderland M. C. Pyle. 434 Minutes, The 87 Missionary Hymn Reginald Heber. 390 Mistress's Reply to her Little Bird, The, Jane Taylor. 235 Money at Interest. "Boys' and Girls' Magazine." 145 Months, The Sara Coleridge. 297 Morning Hymn 369 Morning Song in the Country 174 Motherless Turkeys, The Marian Douglas. 260 Mr. Nobody Riverside Magazine. 37 Music-Lesson, The 101 My Boy Jem Frederick E. Weatherly. 161 My Children ..J. G. Holland. 56 My Good-for-Nothing Emily H. Miller. 65 My Kittens 212 My Little Hero 140 My Little Sister 37 My Love Annie.. Dinah Maria Mnlock Craik. 39 My Mother , Jane Taylor. 69 My Neighbors Emily Huntington Miller. 241 My Pussy 212 My Winter Friend Marian Douglas. 248 Naming the Baby Mrs. E. C. Bates. 20 Naming the Baby Marian Douglas. 20 Napoleon and the Sailor Thomas Campbell. 164 Nature's Voice A.L. O. E. 352 Nearest Friend, The Frederick W. Faber. 366 Ne^ Doll, The 44 MW Dresses S. H. Baker. 283 New Moon, The Eliza Follen. 345 New Year's Gift, A Jane Taylor. 127 Nightingale and the Glow-worm, The, William Cowper. 257 INDEX OF THE NAMES OF THE POEMS. Page Night with a Wolf, A Bayard Taylor. 204 Nine Parts of Speech, The J. Neale. 83 No Act falls Fruitless 16S Nothing 143 Nothing to Do 5S Not Ready for School Caroline Gilman. 115 Now the Sun is Sinking 345 Nursery Song Mrs. Carter. 188 Nurse Winter Susan Coolidge. 328 Ode on Solitude Alexander Pope. 518 Oh, look at the Moon Eliza Fallen. 347 Old Apple Tree, The 293 Old Cato 108 Old Christmas Mary Howitt. 400 Old Man's Comforts, The Robert Southey. 109 Old, Old Story, The Kate Hankey. 359 Old Story-Books Eliza Cook. 422 Old Winter is Coming 327 One Thing at a Time .1/. .4. Stodart. SS Only a Baby Small Matthias Barr. 15 Only Five Minutes Mrs. M. L. Rayne. 87 Open Door.The 377 Orphan Boy, The Amelia Opie. 149 Our Baby. 24 Our Flowers Youth's Companion. 282 Over in the Meadow Olive A. Wadsioorth. 262 Over the Fence 119 Palace and Cottage, The Jane Taylor. 102 Parable of St. Christopher, The..Helen Hunt. 385 Parrot, The Thomas Campbell. 250 Patient Joe Hannah More. 103 Pet Lamb, The William Wordsworth. 190 Philip, my King. Dinah Maria Mnlock Craik. 32 Picture, A Charles G. Eastman. 75 Pied Piper of Hamelin, The R. Browning. 467 Piper, The William Blake. 80 Playing King Alfred Selwyn. 48 Playing with Pussy 210 Plum Cake, The Jane Taylor. 132 Polly "Lilliput Levee." 64 Polly Pansy 34 Polly's Dolly 41 Pond, The Jane Taylor. 259 Poor Katy Mrs. M. A. Denison. 141 Poor Little Jim 141 Power of Littles, The S5 Praise for Mercies Isaac Watts. 139 Praise for Mercies 373 Prayer for a Little Child 367 Principle put to the Test William Cowper. 119 Puss and the Bear 219 Page Puss and the Parrot 251 Puss Punished 222 Pussy Cat \unt Efjit's Rhymes. 215 Pussy's Class Mary Mapes Dodge. 219 Pussy's Hiding-place Aunt Clara. 211 Rabbit on the Wall, The Catherine Allan. 61 Rain, The Lnra Anna Boies. 310 Rain, The Mrs. E.A. Harriman. 309 Rain, The Mrs. Wells. 309 Rainbow, The Clayton. 344 Rain-Song, The R. P. Utter. 310 Rain, Wind, and Snow, The, "Rhyme and Reason." 306 Raven and the Oak, The S'. T. Coleridge. 253 Ready for Duty Miss Warner. 288 Redbreast chasing the Butterfly, William Wordsworth. 242 Richest Prince, The 100 Robert of Lincoln William Culleii Bryant. 246 Robin, The Susan Jeioett. 237 Robin, The 240 Robin Redbreast William Alliugham. 239 Robin's Christmas Eve, The C. E. B. 412 Robinson Crusoe, Adventures of 458 Robin's Song, The 241 Roland and his Friend .1/. C. Pyle. 442 "Run, Mousey, run !" 226 Sailor and the Monkeys, The 179 Sailor Boy and his Mother, The M. Barr. 152 Sailor Boy's Dream, The,... William Dimond. 154 Sailor Boy's Gossip, The Eliza Cook. 152 Sands of Dee, The Charles Kingsley. 497 Seasons, The .' 298 Selling the Baby 25 Seven Times One Jean Ingelow. 76 Shall the Baby Stay? 16 Shepherd's Dog, The Matthias Barr. 196 Silkworm, The, Mary Howitt. 275 Singing-Lesson, The Jean Ingelow. 255 Sir Patrick Spens 477 Sir Ponto's Party Professor Bruns. 202 Skating Susan Jewett. 332 Sleeping Beauty, The Georgiana M' Neil. 424 Sleeping Beauty, The Alfred Tennyson. 426 Sleeping Child, A Arthur Hugh Clough. 2S Sleepy Little Sister, The 61 Sluggard, The Isaac Watts. 118 Snow-bird's Song, The F. C. Woodworth. 247 Snowfall, The 329 Snow-Storm, The 330 Soldier's Dream, The Thomas Campbell. 165 INDEX OF THE NAMES OF THE POEMS. Page Song John Keats. 245 Song for May Morning 319 Song of Life 94 Song of the Bee, The Marian Douglas. 270 Song of the Brook Alfred Tennyson. 336 Song of the Brook, The 337 Song of the Elfin Miller. ..Allan Cunningham. 429 Song of the Seed-Corn, The 324 Sparrow's Nest, The Mary Howitt. 249 Spider and the Fly, The Mary Howitt. 267 Spring Bernard Barton. 315 Spring and the Flowers 315 Spring Voices 314 Spring, Walk, The Thomas Miller. 316 Squirrel, The Mary Howitt. 207 Squirrel, The 207 Squirrel, The Bernard Barton. 208 Squirrel, The 208 Star-Spangled Banner Francis Scott Key. 508 Stolen Top, The "Lullabies and Ditties." 121 Stop, stop, Pretty Water Eliza Follen. 333 Story of Hans, The, 11 Stories and Rhymes for Children." 125 Strange Child's Christmas, The 409 Streamlet, The M. A. Stodart. 339 " Suffer the Little Ones to come unto Me" J.Gill. 365 Summer Eliza Cook. 319 Summer Woods Mary Howitt. 321 Sunbeam, To a 313 Sunday 379 Sunshine and Showers 99 Suppose Phoebe Cary. 101 Swallow and Redbreast W. L. Bowles. 242 Sweet and Low Alfred Tennyson. 33 Sweets of Liberty, The 244 Ten Commandments, The 374 Thank you, Pretty Cow Fane Taylor. ISO ThatCalf! Phcebc Gary. 187 There is a Happy Land Andrew Young. 375 They Didn't Think Phoebe Cary. 228 Three Fishers, The Charles Kingsley. 154 Three Warnings Hester Thrale Piozzi. 515 Tiger William Blake. US To a Dear Little Truant. ..Frances S. Osgood. .-"SIS Toad's Good-bye to the Children, The 263 To a Little Girl that has told a Lie.../. Taylor. 114 To a Sunbeam . 313 To Charlotte Pulteney Ambrose Philips. 26 Tommy and his Shilling. ...Mrs. S. W. Jewett. 134 Tommy's Army^ Frederick E. Weatherly. 47 To the Lady-Bird. ...Caroline Bowles Soutliey. 274 To the Lark 256 Page Tour of St. Nicholas, The... Rev. Ralph Hoyt. 396 Tree, The Bjornstjerne Bjornson. 292 True Love 74 True Story, A Jane Taylor. 143 Truth 83 Truthful Dotlie C. L. M. 112 Try, Try Again 85 Turtle-Dove's Nest, Th6..Aunt ' Effies Rhymes. 245 Two and One 84 Two Dimes, The 146 Two Friends, The Susan Jewett. 200 Two Little Kittens, The 214 Two Pictures .Marian Douglas. 105 Two Travellers, The 123 Under my Window Thomas Westwood. 62 Unfinished Pra3 r er The 370 Use of Flowers, The Mary Howitt. 280 Use of Sight, The Jane Taylor. 124 Vacation Beverly Moore. 129 Verges supposed to be written by Alexander Selkirk William Cowper. 464 Violet, The Jane Taylor. 289 Visit from St. Nicholas, A C. C. Moore. 394 Voice of the Grass, The Sarah Roberts. 291 Vo3 - age in the Ann-chair 46 Waiting for the May Marian Douglas. 314 Walk in Spring, A M. A. Stodart. 317 Wasp and the Bee, The 272 Waves on the Seashore, The, Aunt Effies Rhymes. 341 We are Seven William Wordsworth. 75 Weighing the Baby Ethel Lynn Beers. 22 What? Kate Putnam Osgood. 50 What are they Doing? 227 What God sees 356 "What is that, Mother V... George W. Doane. 238 AVhat Makes me Happiest? 100 What so Sweet? Mary N.Preseott. 320 What the Choir sang about the New Bonnet, Miss Hammond. 122 AVhat the Sparrow Chirps, Poems of Home Life. 249 AVhat the Tiny Drop Did 308 AVhat the Tiny Drop Said 307 AA r hat Way does the AA'ind come? A Sister of William Wordsioorth. 300 AA r here did you Come from? G. Maedonald. 21 AA T hich is your Lot? 133 Which Loved Best? Joy Allison. 72 AVho was Santa Claus ? 402 INDEX OF THE NAMES OF THE POEMS. Page Who Stole the Bird's Nest?. .Lydia M. Child. 233 William Tell Rev. J. H. Gurney. Alb Willie and the Apple M. A. D. 120 Willie Winkie William Miller. 49 Wind in a Frolic, The William Hoivitt. 305 Winnie 25 Winter Jewels 329 Wish, A Rose Terry Cooke. 334 Wish, A Samuel Rogers. 517 Wishing William Allingham. 77 Wives of Brixham, The M. B. S. 156 Page Wonderful House, The." Rhyme and Reason." 423 Woodman, Spare that Tree ! G. P. Morris. 292 World, The " Lilliput Lectures," 281 Wreck of the Hesperus, The.//. W. Longfellow. 161 Written in March William Wordsworth. 303 Young Girl to her Little Brother, A, Aunt Mary. 29 Young Mouse, The 226 Zara's Ear-rings John Gibson Lockhart. 510 List of Illustrations. Subject. Artist. Page " 'Dear ladies,' she cries, and the tears trickle down, 'relieve a poor beggar, I pray' "... R. Barnes Frontispiece. Only a Baby Small R. Barnes 15 Lulu's Complaint From a Berlin Photograph. 17 Baby May T. H. Wilson 19 Where did you Come from ? Fr. A. Kaulbach 21 Our Baby George Bensell 24 Winnie M. Ellen Edwards 25 Baby-Land , 27 "My pretty baby brother" E. B. Bensell 29 Baby Paul From a Berlin Photograph. 31 " Look at me with thy large brown eyes " R. Barnes 32 " While my pretty one sleeps " A. W. Bayes 33 My Little Sister After Sir Thomas Lawrence. 37 "I'm just a wee-bit lassie" From a Berlin Photograph. 38 Annie Ludwig Passini 39 Golden-tressed Adelaide 40 "And to you I sing my song" Mrs. Harrison 42 Doctor's Visit Oscar Pletsch 43 The New Doll 44 Tommy's Army F. Tegetmeyer 4S "I and Effie will sit together" M. Ellen Edwards 51 "Sat slowly reading a ponderous book " Mrs. Harrison 53 The Children's Hour E. B. Bensell 55 " Freeing the garden from weeds " R. Barnes 57 Little Fingers From a Berlin Photograph. 58 Nothing to Do 17. Small 59 "I will be a grizzly bear" R. Barnes 60 Letting the Old Cat die 63 Polly J. E. Millais 64 " The father's work is done " F. A. Chapman 66 Father is Coming F. A. Chapman 67 " Who ran to help me when I fell " A. W. Bayes 69 Beautiful Grandmamma 70 "Golden Hair climbed upon Grandpapa's knee " George G. White 72 " How much I love you, mother dear" H. Faber 74 Castles in the Air 77 "Children, you should never let such angry passions rise" H. Faber 79 Two and One Cerlier S4 9 10 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. Subject. Artist. Page Try, try Again -. M. Ellen Edwards 85 Deeds of Kindness M. Ellen Edwards 88 Little Christel G. J. Pin-well 95 "Two children stood at their father's gate " S'. B 99 "Touch the keys lightly " M.Ellen Edwards 101 "I think I'll be a soldier" .4. I). L 105 "Dear mother, why do all the girls love little Bessie Bell?" M. Ellen Edwards 107 Meddlesome Matty J. Jellicoe 110 " Into the drawing-room Dottie comes skipping " Mrs. Harrison 112 "And has my darling told a lie ?" M. Ellen Edwards 114 "'Stay, little bee,' she cried" M. K 117 The Woodpecker Giacomelli 124 "All strewed with broken toys" A. W. Baycs 127 Vacation W. Small 130 Jem and the Shoulder of Mutton ./. Jellicoe 131 "Some children roam the fields and hills " Addie Ledyard 133 The Beggar Boy E. B. Bensell 135 The Complaints of the Poor Gustave Bore 137 "How many children in the street half naked I behold" .1/. Ellen Edwards 139 Lucy Gray Sir John Gilbert 148 " Islands far out in the ocean " E. T. 153 "The masts fly in splinters — the shrouds are on fire" 155 The Little Schooner Granville Perkins 158 " Driven like a cloud upon a cruel lee-shore" 160 " And the skipper had taken his little daughter " 162 Busy little Husbandman F. A. Chapman 169 Grandmother's Farm 170 The Farm 171 "The patient cow, with dappled hide" F. A. Chapman 172 " The cattle come crowding through the gate " E. M. Wimperis 173 Lions and Tiger Zwecker 177 The Arab and his Horse L. Wells 181 "And, hark! the doom bell clangs!" Ernest Grizet 183 The Boy and the Ass Harrison Weir 185 "Thank you, pretty cow" Emile Bayard 186 That Calf H. W. Herrick 187 " Drink, pretty creature, drink " George H. Thomas 191 The Lamb 192 The Dog of St. Bernard's L. Wells 194 The Shepherd's Dog i^. L. Wells 197 "Stand up, and listen like a dear old Flo " 199 The Two Friends E. B. Bensell 201 Cowper's Hares 205 The Little Hare F. W. Keyl 206 " The hounds are in full cry " 207 The Squirrel 2 °9 Playing with Pussy •/. O. S 210 I like Little Pussy 211 My Pussy 212 Little Kit 213 " Pussy cat lives in the servants' hall" Harrison Weir 215 The Kitten and the Falling Leaves /'. W. Keyl 216 Cleopatra Miss C. S. Post 218 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. H Subject. Artist. Page Birds in Summer Giacomelli 229 Birds' Nest li - Moore.. 231 Giacomelli 232 Baby Birds Win, stole the Bird's Nest? J - G - &••• The Mistress's Reply to her Little Bird ■/• Lawson 236 " Trills a wild carol, so mellow and clear" Giacomelli 241 Mary's Pet 243 My Winter Friend 248 The Crow and the Cheese A - T - Elwes 252 ••She only sang to the skies" Giacomelli 255 The Chicken 258 "So into the pond the young chicken she flew " B. Moore 259 The Spider and the Fly Harrison Weir 267 Butterfly Blue M ! 271 Bird and Snake 276 " The purple-headed mountain, the river running by " R. Assmus 279 " The wonderful air is over me " F. DUrch 281 "Annie loves the rose " 282 Flowers 285 "Playing in their sturdy health by their mother's door" M. Ellen Edwards 287 The Violet T. Kennedy 289 The Tree 292 " January brings the snow " 297 Winter 298 " The spring has many charms for me" , 299 " Birds are in the woodland, buds are on the tree" Meaulle 300 What Way does the Wind Come? 301 " Black bough and bent twig budding out anew " 303 " Mother 'doing peaches'" M. Ellen Edwards 303 '• The lake doth glitter" Meaulle 304 The Wind in a Frolic W. L. Sheppard 305 " Snow ! snow ! pure white snow !" 307 "And now this hateful rain comes down" M. Ellen Edwards 311 " Across the bridge by the water-mill " E. M. Wimperis 316 Summer F. B. Sehell 320 " Come ye into the summer woods" 321 '•Books and work I no more should -see" W. T. C. Dobson, A. R. A.. 323 " Golden Autumn comes again " E. M. Wimperis 325 Old Winter is Coming 327 It Snows R. Sayer 331 " Be my fairy, mother" M. Ellen Edwards 334 The Brook 335 "I bubble into eddying bays" 336 "Through grassy meadows flowing" F. E. Lummis 337 " O'er precipices steep " Meaulle 338 " I saw a little streamlet flow along a peaceful vale " 340 The waves on the seashore Miss G. S. Post 341 The Cataract of Lodore E. M. Wimperis 343 The Rainbow Henry Dawson 344 Now the Sun is Sinking Meaulle 345 Oh, look at the moon ! 347 The Little Boy and the Stars 348 12 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. Subject. Aetist. Page "Afairlittle girl sat under a tree " „ H. C. Selous 350) Good-Night F. A. Chapman 351 "Come stand by my knee, little children " E. B. Bensell 355 " God is ever good" 357, The Holy Family .' Andrea del Sarto 359 " And found him in a manger" H. C. Selotts 361 "Suffer the little ones to come unto me" Jouvenet 365 "Suffer me to come to thee" M. Ellen Edwards 367 Awake J. E. Miliars 369 Child's Evening Prayer George H. Thomas 370 There is a Happy Land F. A. Chapman 375 Eli and Samuel 378 A Forest Scene in the Days of Wickliffe George G. White 382 A Visit from St. Nicholas Frederick B. Schell 394 The Tour of St. Nicholas Frederick B. Schell 396 Christmas Bells E. M. Wimperis 403 The Sleeping Beauty Gustave Dore" 425 " Which do you choose, the red or the blue ?" Frederick B. Schell 437 " And a troop of wonderful figures pour, from the open lid to the earthen floor" Frederick B. Schell 439 " He poured the water along their track " Frederick B. Schell 445 " Dear Hetty had. read in a curious book " 449 Cinderella Gustave Bore 454 "Made tables, chairs, and stools" 459 Crusoe and his Parrot ' 460 Crusoe and Friday 461 Friday finds his Father 462 Bishop Hatto's Tower and Drachenfels R. Piittner 465 Little Red Riding Hood 473 John Gilpin George H. Thomas 493 How they Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix 495 BABY- DAYS. Baby-Days. — * ONLY A BABY SMALL. Only a baby small, Dropt from the skies ; Only a laughing face, Two sunny eyes ; Only two cherry lips, One chubby nose; Only two little hands, Ten little toes. Only a golden head, Curly and soft ; Only a tongue that wags Loudly and oft ; Only a little brain Empty of thought ; Only a little heart Troubled with naught. Only a tender flower, Sent us to rear ; Only a life to love While we are here ; Only a baby small, Never at rest ; Small, but how dear to us God knoweth best. Matthias Bake. ANOTHER LITTLE WAVE. Another little wave Upon the sea of life ; Another soul to save Amid its toil and strife. Two more little feet To walk the dusty road ; To choose where two paths meet- The narrow and the broad. Two more little hands To work for good or ill ; Two more little eyes, Another little will. Another heart to love, Receiving love again ; And so the baby came, A thing of joy and pain. Lucy Evelina Akerma.v 15 16 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY BABY. " What is this pretty little thing That nurse so carefully doth bring, And round its head a blanket fling ? A baby ! " Oh dear ! how very soft its cheek ! Why, nurse, I cannot make it speak, And it can't walk, it is so weak. A baby ! " Oh, I am afraid that it will die ; Why can't it eat as well as I, And jump and talk ? Do let it try, Poor baby!" " Why, you were once a baby too, And could not jump as now you do, But good mamma took care of you, Like baby. " And then she taught your little feet To pat along the carpet neat, And called papa to come and meet His baby. " Oh dear mamma, to take such care, And no kind pains and trouble spare To feed and nurse you when you were A baby !" Jane Taylor. SHALL THE BABY STAY? In a little brown house, With scarce room for a mouse, Came, with morning's first ray, One remarkable day (Though who told her the way I am sure I can't say), A young lady so wee That you scarcely could see Her small speck of a nose ; And, to speak of her toes — Though it seems hardly fair, Since they surely were there ; Keep them covered we must — You must take them on trust. Now this little brown house, With scarce room for a mouse, Was quite full of small boys, With their books and their toys, Their wild bustle and noise. "My dear lads," quoth papa, " We've too many by far ; Tell us what we can do With this damsel so blue ? We've no room for her here ; So to me 'tis quite clear, Though it gives me' great pain, I must hang her again On the tree whence she came (Do not cry, there's no blame), With her white blanket round her. Just as Nurse Russell found her." Said stout little Ned : " I'll stay all day in bed, Squeezed up nice and small Very close to the wall." Then spoke Tommy : " I'll go To the cellar below ; I'll just travel about, But not try to get out Till you're all fast asleep, Then up stairs I will creep ; And so quiet I'll be You'll not dream it is me." Then flaxen-haired Will : " I'll be dreffully still ; On the back stairs I'll stay, Way off, out of way." Master Johnny, the fair, Shook his bright, curly hair : BABY-DATS. 17 Here's a nice place for me, Dear papa, do you see? I just fit in so tight I could stand here all night." And a niche in the wall Held his figure so small. Quoth the father : " Well done, My brave darlings ! come on ! Here's a shoulder for Will, Pray sit still, sir, sit still : Valiant Thomas, for thee A good seat on my knee ; And Edward, thy brother, Can perch on the other ; Baby John, take my back. Now, who says we can't pack ? So, love gives us room, And our birdie shall stay. We'll keep her, my boys. Till God takes her away." LULU'S COMPLAINT. I'se a poor 'it tie sorrowful baby, For Bidget is 'way clown stairs ; My titten has scatched my finer, And Dolly won't say her p'ayers. I hain't seen my bootiful mamma Since ever so long ado ; An' I ain't her tunninest baby . No londer, for Bidget says so. Mamma's dot anoder new baby ; Docl dived it — he did — yes'erday And it kies, it kies' — oh, so defful ! I wis' He would tate it away. I don't want no " sweet 'ittle sister : I want my dood mamma, I do ; I want her to tiss me, and tiss me, An' tall me her p'ecious Lulu. 2 I des my dear papa will bin' me A "ittle dood titten some day ; Here's nurse wid my mamma's n< w baby ; I wis' she would tate it away. Oh, oh ! what tunnin' red fin'ers ! It sees me 'ite out of its eyes ; I dess we will teep it, and dive it Some can'y whenever it kies. I dess I will dive it my dolly To play wid 'mos' every day ; And I dess, I dess — Say, Bidget, Ask Dod not to tate it away. THE BABY. We've got a baby ! I should like you to come Just to see the baby that we have at home : Oh, it is such a baby ! with the bluest little eyes ! And its mouth ! you should only see its mouth when it cries ! Then it has such a hand ! — like mine, only smaller ; And it cannot walk yet, and our Pon- to is taller! 18 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. It has the queerest little feet, with the funniest little toes, And something which papa declares will grow into a nose. I saw it this morning — how it sucked its little thumb ! Oh, it is such a baby ! — now do, Charlie, come. Mother says you may see it, if you will not make a noise ; Just wait till nurse has gone down stairs ; you know she hates us bovs. Did you ever have a baby ? we have had ours a week ; Nurse says it soon will talk, but I never heard it speak. And what is strange, they let it cry and scream just when it pleases, And the more it cries, it seems to me, the less mamma it teases. I know they make me creep about as quiet as a mouse : I tell youwhat, it's something — a baby in the house ! In ma's own room I scarcely dare] to run across the floor, It's " Do be still," or " Harry, hush," or else, " Do shut the door." I don't like nurse — she's always there, and says, " Now, Harry, go," Because I want to kiss mamma ; but I should like to know If she is not as much my ma, now as a month ago ! She lets the baby have its way — blesses its little eyes — Coaxes and pets it all the more, the more it screams and cries. But it is just reversed with me ! I know if I should take Such airs on me as baby does the moment it's awake, I should be sure to find myself in bed an hour too soon, Or have my hobby-horse locked up and kept an afternoon. You have a brother? What of that? wait till you have a sister ! I wish you had been at our house the first time that I kissed her ! Such a warm little mouth ! standing wide open so. A boy's no great things — I'm one — I ought to know ! I'm glad she's a girl — I know all my toys Would last as long again but for rough little boys ! But it's well you have one, since you can't have the other, Though I would not change my sister for any little brother. Perhaps a boy-baby is better than no baby at all, But our baby's a girl. Did you hear father call? There he is, over yonder — just crossing the street ; We can go up stairs with him. Oh, Charlie, wipe your feet ! For nurse looks at footmarks with a frown as black as thunder, And mutters to herself, " What are mats for, I wonder?" Now you must not make a noise — please, Charlie, don't forget. Papa can let us in — I am his boy yet. Elizabeth W. Townsend. BABY- DAYS. 19 Cheeks as soft as July peaches ; Lips whose velvet scarlet teaches Poppies paleness ; round large eyes Ever great with new surprise ; Minutes filled with shadeless gladness ; Minutes just as brimmed with sad- ness; Happy smiles and wailing cries, Crows and laughs and tearful eyes, Lights and shadows, swifter born Than on wind-swept autumn corn ; Ever some new tiny notion, Making every limb all motion, Catchings up of legs and arms, Throwings back and small alarms, Clutching fingers — straightening jerks, Twining feet whose each toe works, . Kickings up and straining risings, Mother's ever-new surprisings ; Hands all wants, and looks all won- der At all things the heavens under ; Tiny scorns of smiled reprovings That have more of love than lovings ; Mischiefs done with such a winning Archness that we prize such sinning; Breakings dire of plates and glasses, Graspings small at all that passes ; 20 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. Pullings off of all that's able To be caught from tray or table ; Silences — small meditations Deep as thoughts of cares for nations — Breaking into wisest speeches In a tongue that nothing teaches, All the thoughts of whose possessing Must be wooed to light by guessing ; Slumbers — such sweet angel-seemings That we'd ever have such clreamings, Till from sleep we see thee breaking, And we'd always have thee waking; Wealth for which we know no meas- ure, Pleasure high above all pleasure, Gladness brimming over gladness, Joy in care — delight in sadness, Loveliness beyond completeness, Sweetness distancing all sweetness, Beauty all that beauty may be, That's May Bennett ; that's my baby. William C. Bennett. NAMING THE BABY. You have birds in a cage, and you've beautiful flowers, But you haven't at your house what we have at ours ; ; Tis the prettiest thing that you ever did see, Just as clear and as precious as pre- cious can 1 >e . 'Tis my own baby sister, just seven days old. And too little for any but grown folks to hold. Oh, I know you would love her; she's fresh as a rose, And she has such a queer, tiny bit of a nose, And the dearest and loveliest pink little toes, Which, I tell mother, seem only made to be kissed ; And she keeps her wee hand doubled up in a fist. She is quite without hair, but she's beautiful e} T es — She always looks pretty except when she cries. And what name we shall give her there's no one can tell, For my father says Sarah, and mother likes Belle ; And my great-uncle John — he's an old-fashioned man — Wants her named for his wife that is dead — Mary Ann. But the name / have chosen the dar- ling to call Is a name that is prettier far than them all, And to give it to Baby my heart is quite set- It is Violet Martha Rose Stella Mar- zette. Marian Douglas: NAMING THE BABY. What shall we name the darling Who came to us one day ? Shall we call her our little Mary, Estelle, or Ida, or May ? Mabel, or Saxon Edith, Or Margaret, fairest pearl ? Will Isabelle, tall and stately, Be fitting our little girl ? Shall we call her gentle Alice? Or Madge, for her dark-brown lu.ir? Is she like a Rose just opening, Or a Lily pure and fair? BAB 1'- DAI'S. 21 Shall we name her Helen or Laura, Sweet Hope, or darling Grace ? Will Belle, Louise, or Anna Match best with the baby's face? Lottie, or Hattie, or Jennie, Winnie, or romping Kate, Josephine, proud and stately, Or Bertha, grave and sedate ? No name that just fits you, dearie. Then what shall the little one do ? Must she wander, forlorn and name- less, The years of her life all through ? We will call you all sweet names, darling, That are found in household lore ; Should they be too small a number, We will study to make them more. We will call you our brown Snow- birdie, Fairy, and Daisy, and Elf, Darling, and Dottie, and Dimple. — Names fitting your own sweet self. Some morn or propitious even Shall bring you a name to bear ; Some name with a musical cadence Shall our little baby wear. Mrs. E. C. Bates. WHERE DID YOU COME FROM? Where did you come from, baby dear? Out of the everywhere into here. Where did you get your eyes so blue ? Out of the sky as I came through. What makes the light in them sparkle and spin ? Some of the starry spikes left in. Where did you get that little tear ? I found it waiting when I got here. What makes your forehead so smooth and high ? A soft hand stroked it. as I went by- 22 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. What makes your cheek like a warm white rose ? I saw something better than any one knows. Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss ? Three angels gave me at once a kiss. Where'did you get this pearly ear? God spoke, and it came out to hear. Where did you get those arms and hands ? Love made itself into hooks and bands. Feet, whence did you come, you dar- ling things? From the same box as the cherubs' wings. How did they all come just to be you? God thought of me, and so I grew. But how did you come to us, you dear? God thought of you, and so I am here. George JIscdonald. CHOOSING A NAME. I have got a new-born sister. I was nigh the first that kissed her. When the nursing-woman brought her To papa, his infant daughter, Hoav papa's dear eyes did glisten ! She will shortly be to christen, And papa has made the offer I shall have the naming of her. Now, I wonder what would please her — Charlotte, Julia, or Louisa? Ann and Mary, they're too common ; Joan's too formal for a woman ; Jane's a prettier name beside, But we had a Jane that died. They would say, if 'twas Rebecca, That she was a little Quaker; Edith's pretty, but that looks Better in old English books ; Ellen's left off long ago ; Blanche is out of fashion now. None that I have named as yet Are so good as Margaret. Emily is neat and fine ; What do you think of Caroline? How I'm puzzled and perplexed What to choose or think of next ! I am in a little fever Lest the name that I should give her Should disgrace her or defame her : — I will leave papa to name her. Mary Lamb. WEIGHING THE BABY. " How many pounds does the baby weigh — Baby who came but a month ago ? How many pounds, from the crowning curl To the rosy point of the restless toe? Grandfather ties the 'kerchief's knot, Tenderly guides the swinging weight, And carefully over his glasses peers To read the record, " Only eight." Softly the echo goes arolmd ; The father laughs at the tiny girl, Tbe fair young mother sings the words. While grandmother smooths the golden curl, And stooping above the precious thing, Nestles a kiss within a prayer, Murmuring softly, " Little one, Grandfather did not weigh you fair." BABY- BAYS. 23 Nobody weighed the baby's smile, Or the love that came with the help- less one ; Nobody weighed the threads of care From which a woman's life is spun. No index tells the mighty worth Of little Baby's quiet breath, A soft, unceasing metronome, Patient and faithful unto death. Nobody weighed the baby's soul, For here on earth no weight may be That could avail ; God only knows Its value in eternity. Only eight pounds to hold a soul That seeks no angel's silver wing, But shines beneath this human guise, Within so small and frail a thing ! mother, laugh your merry note ; Be gay and glad, but don't forget From baby eyes looks out a soul That claims a home in Eden yet. Ethel Lynn Beers. BABY'S COMPLAINT. Oh, mother, dear mother, no wonder I cry! More wonder by far that your baby don't die. No matter what ails me, no matter who's here, No matter how hungry the " poor lit- tle dear," No matter if full or all out of breath, She trots me, and trots me, and trots me to death ! I love my dear nurse, but I dread that great knee ; I like all her talk, but, woe unto me ! She can't be contented with talking so pretty, And washing, and dressing, and doing her duty ; And that's very well : I can bear soap and water, But, mother, she is an unmerciful trotter ! Pretty ladies, I do want to look at your faces ; Pretty cap ! pretty fire ! let me see how it blazes ; How can I, my head going bibity- bob? And she trots me the harder the harder I sob. Oh, mother, do stop her; I'm inwardly sore ! I hiccough and cry, and she trots me the more, And talks about wind, when 'tis she makes me ache ; Wish 'twould blow her away for poor Baby's sake J Thank goodness, I'm still ! Oh blessed be quiet ! I'm glad my dear mother is willing to try it. Of foolish old customs my mother's no lover, And the wisdom of this she can never discover. I'll rest me a while, and just look about, And laugh up at Sally, who peeps in and out, And pick up some notions as soon as I can, To fill my small noddle before I'm a man. 24 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. Oh dear! is that she? Is she coming I And, thumpity -thump! with the great- so soon ? est delight She's bringing my dinner with tea- ; Her heel it is going from morning to cup and spoon ; night. She'll hold me with one hand, in t'other i All over the house you may hear it. the cup, I'm sure, And -as fast as it's down she'll just Trot! trotting! Just think what I'm shake it up - : doomed to endure ! L. J. H. OUR BABY. Did you ever see our baby — Little Tot ? With her blue eyes sparkling bright, Luscious cheeks of rose and white, Lips of glowing ruby light? Tell you what, She is just the sweetest baby Of the lot ! You don't think so ? You ne'er saw her ! If you could, 'Mong her pretty playthings clattering, While her little tongue was chattering, And her nimble feet a-pattering, Think you would Say with me she is the sweetest, If you should. Every grandma's only darling, I suppose, To her eye (it's not a pity) Is as bright and fresh and pretty, Is as cunning and as witty, As my rose. Heavenly Father ! spare them to us Till life's close ! BABY-BAYS. 25 WWW^SM : WINNIE. Bless me ! here's another bab}% Just as cunning as can be, Eves as blue as bonnie blue-bells, Breath as sweet as rosemary. Smile — a tiny, flashing sunbeam, Hair of purest, fairest gold, Hands and shoulders full of dimples, Little Winnie, eight months old. Making funny, cooing speeches Nobod^y can understand — Such a quaint and pretty language, Only spoke in Baby-Land. Should I sing all day about her, All her sweetness were not told : She's a bud, a bird, a fairy, Little Winnie, eight months old. COUNTING BABY'S TOES. Dear little bare feet, Dimpled and white, In your long night-gown Wrapped for the night, Come, let me count all Your queer little toes, Pink as the heart Of a shell or a rose. One is a lady That sits in the sun ; Two is a baby, And three is a nun ; Four is a lily With innocent breast : And five is a birdie Asleep on her nest. SELLING THE BABY. Robbie's sold the baby ! Sold her out and out! And I'll have to tell you How it came about. 26 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY When on New Year's morning Robbie's opening eyes Spied the brand-new baby, What a glad surprise ! Constantly he watched her, Scarcely cared to play, Lest the precious baby Should be snatched awa}\ Now he's gone and sold her ! For to-day he ran And proclaimed to mamma, " Yes, I've found a man ! " Here's the man '11 buy her ; Get her ready, krick !" With an air of business Brandishing a stick. " Sold my baby, Robbie ?" Mamma sadly said ; Robbie, quite decided, Bobbed his little head. " Well, if this man buys her, What will he give you ?" " Oh, two nice big horses, And five pennies, too ! " What's the good of babies ? Only 'queal and 'cream ; I can go horse-backin' When I get my team." But when quiet night came, Robbie's prayers were said, And he looked at Baby In her little bed. And he said, when Baby Smiled in some sweet dream, " She's wurf forty horses, 'Stead of jes' a team !" Baby's wee pink fingers Round his own he curled " She's wurf all the horses In dis whole big world." TO CHARLOTTE PULTENEY. Timely blossom, infant fair, Fondling of a happy pair, Every morn and every night Their solicitous delight ; Sleeping, waking, still at ease, Pleasing, without skill to please ; Little gossip, blithe and hale, Tattling many a broken tale ; Singing many a tuneless song, Lavish of a heedless tongue ; Simple maiden, void of art, Babbling out the very heart, Yet abandoned to thy will, Yet imagining no ill, Yet too innocent to blush ; Like the linnet in the bush To the mother-linnet's note Moduling her slender throat, Chirping forth thy petty joys, Wanton in the change of toys ; Like the linnet green in May Flitting to each bloomy spray ; Wearied then and glad of rest, Like the linnet in the nest ; This thy present happy lot, This in time will be forgot : Other pleasures, other cares, Ever busy Time prepares ; And thou shalt in thy daughter see This picture, once, resembled thee. Ambrose Philips. B.ABT-DAYS. 27 BABY-LAND. How many miles to Baby-Land ? Any one can tell ; Up one night, To your right — Please to ring the bell. What can you see in Baby-Land ? Little folks in white, Downy heads, Cradle beds, Faces pure and bright. What do they do in Baby-Land ? Dream and wake and play. Laugh and crow, Shout and grow ; Jolly times have they. What do they say in Baby-land ? Why, the oddest things ; Might as well Try to tell What a birdie sings. Who is the queen of Baby-Land ? Mother, kind and sweet ; And her love, Born above, Guides the little feet. George Cooper. CREEP BEFORE YOU WALK. Creep away, my bairnie, Creep before you gang ; Listen with both ears To your old granny's sang ; If you go as far as I, You will think the road lang Creep away, my bairnie, Creep before you gang. 28 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. Creep away, my bairnie ; You're too young to learn To tot up and down yet, My bonnie wee bairn ; Better creeping, careful, Than falling with a bang, Hurting all your wee brow ; Creep before you gang, The little birdie falls When it tries too soon to fly ; Folks are sure to tumble When they climb too high. Those who do not walk aright Are sure to come to wrang ; Creep away, my bairnie, Creep before you gang. James Ballantyne. A SLEEPING CHILD. Lips, lips, open ! Up comes a little bird that lives inside, L T p comes a little bird, and peeps, and out he flies. All the day he sits inside, and some- times he sings ; Up he comes, and out he goes at night to spread his wings. Little bird, little bird, whither will you go Round about the world while nobody can know. Little bird, little bird, whither do you flee? Far away round the world while no- body can see. Little bird, little bird, how long will you roam ? All round the world, and around again home. Round the round world, and back through the air. When the morning comes, the little bird is there. Back comes the little bird, and looks, and in he flies ; Up wakes the little boy, and opens both his eyes. Sleep, sleep, little boy, little bird's away ; Little bird will come again, by the peep of day. Sleep, sleep, little boy, little bird must go Round about the world, while nobody can know. Sleep,' sleep sound, little bird goes round — Round and round he goes, — sleep, sleep sound ! Arthur Hugh Clouuh. LITTLE BIRDIE. What does little birdie say, In her nest at peep of day ? " Let me fly," says little birdie — u Mother, let me fly away." " Birdie, rest a little longer, Till the little wings are stronger." So she rests a little longer, Then she flies away. What does little baby say In her bed at peep of day ? Baby says, like little birdie, " Let me rise and fly away." " Baby, sleep a little longer, Till the little limbs are stronger. If she sleeps a little longer, Baby, too, shall fly away.", Alfred Tennyson. BABY-DAYS. 29 A YOUNG GIRL TO HER LITTLE BROTHER. My pretty baby brother Is six months old to-day, And, though he cannot speak, He knows whate'er I say. Whenever I come near He crows for very joy, And dearly do I love him. The darling baby-boy ! My brother's cheek is blooming, And his bright laughing eves Are like the pure spring violets, Or the summer cloudless skies. His mouth is like a rosebud, So delicate and red, And his hair is soft as silk, And curls all round his head. When he laughs, upon his face 80 many dimples play They seem like little sunbeams Which o'er his features stray. 30 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. I am sure we all must love him, He is so full of glee : Just like a ray of sunshine , My brother is to me. When in his pretty cradle He lies in quiet sleep, 'Tis joy to be beside him, A faithful Avatch to keep ; And when his sleep is over, I love to see him lie And lift the silken fringes That veil his sweet blue eye. Oh, my dear, dear baby brother, Our darling and our pet ! The very sweetest plaything I ever have had yet. The pretty little creature, He grows so every day That when the summer comes In the garden he will play. How cunning he will look Among the grass and flowers ! No blossom is so fair As this precious one of ours. Every night before I sleep, When I kneel to say my prayer, I ask my heavenly Father Of my brother to take care. Aunt Mary. THE BABIE. Nae shoon to hide her tiny taes, Nae stockin' on her feet ; Her supple ankles white as snaw, Or early blossoms sweet. Her simple dress o' sprinkled pink, Her double, dimplit chin, Her puckered lips and baumy mou' With na ane tooth within. Her een sae like her mither's een, Twa gentle, liquid things ; Her face is like an angel's face : We're glad she has nae wings. She is the buddin' o' our luve, A giftie God gied us : We maun na luve the gift owre weel ; 'Twad be nae blessin' thus. We still maun lo'e the Giver mair, An' see Him in the given ; An' sae she'll lead us up to Him, Our babie straight frae heaven. J. E. Raskin. CRADLE SONG. [From the German.] Sleep, baby sleep ! Thy father's watching the sheep, Thy mother's shaking the dreamland tree, And dowivdrOps a little dream for thee. Sleep, baby, sleep ! Sleep, baby, sleep ! The large stars are the sheep, The little stars are the lambs, I guess, The bright moon is the shepherdess. Sleep, baby, sleep ! Sleep, baby, sleep ! And cry not like a sheep, Else the sheep-dog will bark and whine, And bite this naughty child of mine. Sleep, baby, sleep ! Sleep, baby, sleep ! Thy Saviour loves His sheep ; He is the Lamb of God on high Who for our sakes came down to die. Sleep, baby, sleep ! Sleep, baby, sleep ! Away to tend the sheep, Away, thou sheep-dog fierce and wild. And do not harm my sleeping child ! Sleep, baby, sleep ! Elizabeth Pkkntiss. BABY-DATS. 31 BABY PAUL. Up in the early morning, Just at the peep of day, Driving the sleep from my eyelids. Pulling the quilts away ; Pinching my cheeks and my forehead With his white fingers small : This is my bright-eyed darling, This is my baby Paul. Down on the floor in the parlor, Creeping with laugh and shout, Or out in the kitchen and pantry, Tossing the things about ; Rattling the pans and the kettles, Scratching the table and wall : This is my roguish darling, This is my baby Paul. Riding on papa's shoulder, Trotting on grandpa's knee, Pulling his hair and whiskers, Laughing in wildest glee ; Reaching for grandma's knitting, Snatching her thimble and ball ; This is our household idol, This is our babv Paul. Playing bo-peep with his brother. Kissing the little girls, Roaming with aunt and uncles. Clutching his sister's curls ; Teasing old puss from her slumbers. Pattering o'er porch and hall : This is our bonny wee darling, This is our baby Paul. Nestling up close to my bosom. Laying his cheek to mine, Covering my mouth with his kisses Sweeter than golden wine, Flinging his white arms about me, Soft as the snow-flakes fail : This is my cherished darling, This is my baby Paul. Dearer, a thousand times dearer, The wealth in my darling I hoid, Than all the earth's glittering treasure. Its glory, and honors, and gold ; If these at my feet were now lying. I'd gladly renounce them all For the sake of my bright-eyed dar- ling, My dear little baby Paul. Mrs. Bishop Thompson. LULLABY. Golden slumbers kiss your eyes, Smiles awake you when you rise. Sleep, pretty wantons ; do not c/y. And I will sing a lullaby : Rock them, rock them, lullaby. Care is heavy, therefore sleep you ; You are care, and care must keep you. Sleep, pretty wantons ; do not cry. And I will sing a lullaby : Rock them, rock them, lullaby. Thomas Dekker. 32 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY "Who bears upon his baby brow the round And top of sovereifv* - " Look at me with thy large brown eyes, Philip, my king! Round whom the enshadowing purple lies Of babyhood's royal dignities : Lay on my neck thy tiny hand, With Love's invisible sceptre laden ; I am thine Esther to command Till thou shalt find a queen-hand- maiden, Philip, my king ! PHILIP, MY KING. Up from thy sweet mouth up to thy brow, Philip, my king ! The spirit that there lies sleeping now May rise like a giant, and make men bow As to one heaven-chosen amongst his peers. My Saul, than thy brethren taller and fairer Let me behold thee in future years ! Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer, Philip, my king — Oh, the day when thou goest a-wooing, Philip, my king ! When those beautiful lips 'gin suing, And, some gentle heart's bars undo- ing, Thou dost enter, love-crowned, and there fittest, love glorified! — Rule kindly, Tenderly, over thy kingdom fair ; For v/e that love, ah ! we love so blindly. Philip, my king! A wreath not of gold, but palm. One day, Philip, my king ! Thou, too, must tread, as we trod, a way Thorny, and cruel, and cold, and gray ; Rebels within thee and foes without Will snatch at thy crown. But march on, glorious, Martyr, yet monarch ! till angels shout. As thou sitt'st at the feet of God victorious, " Philip, the king !" Dinah Maria Mulock Craik. BABY-DAYS. 33 "SWEET AND LOW." Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea ! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me, While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon ; Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon ; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon : Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. Alfred Tennyson. LULLABY. A song for the baby, sweet little Bo- peep ; Come, wee Willie Winkie, and sing her to sleep. Come toss her high up, and trot her low down; This is the road to Brinklepeeptown. Come, press down her eyelids, and sing in her ear The wonderful songs that in Dream- land we hear, The chime of the waters, the drone of the bees, The tales that the blossoms are telling the breeze. For, spite of her crowing and cooing, I see The baby is sleepy as sleepy can be. 34 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. Down flutter the eyelids — dear little Bopeep, Now whist ! Willie Winkie, she's gone fast asleep. Shirley Dare. CRADLE SONG. 'Tis night on the mountain, 'Tis night on the sea, Mild dewdrops are kissing The bloom-covered lea ; Like plumes gently waving, The soft zephyrs creep ; The birds are all dreaming, Then sleep, darling, sleep. 'Tis night on the mountain, 'Tis night on the sea, Away in the distance The stars twinkle free ; O'er all of His creatures His watch He will keep Who guardeth the sparrows — Then sleep, darling, sleep. Mary M. Bowen. POLLY PANSY. Pretty Polly Pansy Hasn't any hair — Just a ruff of gold down Fit for ducks to wear ; Merry, twinkling blue eyes, Noselet underneath, And a pair of plump lips Innocent of teeth. Either side each soft cheek A jolly little ear, Painted like a conch-shell : Isn't she a dear ? Twice five fingers, Ten tiny toes ; Polly's always counting, So of course she knows. If you take a tea-cup, Polly wants to drink ; If you write a letter, What delicious ink ! Helps you read your paper, News of half the town ; Holds it just as you do, Only upside down ! Polly, when she's sleepy, "Means to rub her eyes — Thumps her nose so blindly Ten to one she cries ! Niddle-noddle numpkin, Pretty lids shut fast, Ring the bells and fire the guns, Polly's off at last ! Pop her in her cradle, Draw the curtains round ; Fists are good for sucking — Don't we know the sound ? Oh, my Polly Pansy, Can it, can it be, That we ugly old folks Once resembled thee? DON'T WAKE THE BABY. Baby sleeps, so we must tread Softly round her little bed, And be careful that our toys Do not fall and make a noise. Play and talk, but whisper low ; Mother wants to work, we know, That when father comes to tea All may neat and cheerful be. PLAY-DAYS Play- Days. , MY LITTLE SISTER. I have a little sister, She's only two years old : But she's a little darling, And worth her weight in gold. She often runs to kiss me When I'm at work or play, Twining her arms about me In such a pretty way ; And then she'll say so sweetly, In innocence and joy, " Tell me story, sister dear, About the little boy." Sometimes when I am knitting She'll pull my needles out, And then she'll skip and dance around With such a merry shout. It makes me laugh to see her, Though I'm not very glad To have her take my needles out. And make my work so bad ; But then if I would have her To see what she has done, I must be very gentle While tellina; her the wrong. MR. NOBODY. I know a funny little man, As quiet as a mouse, Who does the mischief that is done In everybody's house. There's no one ever sees his face, And yet we all agree That every plate we break was cracked By Mr. Nobody. 'Tis he who always tears our books, Who leaves the door ajar ; He pulls the buttons from our skirts, And scatters pins afar. That squeaking door will always squeak, For, prithee, don't you see We leave the oiling to be done By Mr. Nobody ? He puts damp wood upon the fire, That kettles cannot boil ; 37 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. His are the feet that bring in mud, And all the carpets soil. The papers always are mislaid ; Who had them last but he? There's no one tosses them about But Mr. Nobody. The finger-marks upon the doors By none of us are made ; We never leave the blinds unclosed, To let the curtains fade. The ink we never sj>ill ; the boots That lying round you see Are not our boots ; they all belong To Mr. Nobody. Riverside Magazine. THE LITTLE PET. I'm just a wee bit lassie, with a lassie's winsome ways, And worth my solid weight in gold, my uncle Johnny says ; My curly little noddle holds a thim- bleful of sense ; Not quite as much as Solomon's — but his was so immense ! I know that sugar-plums are sweet, that " No, my love," means "Yes ;" That when I'm big I'll always wear my pretty Sunday dress. And I can count — 'leven, six, nine, five — and say my ABC. Now have you any taffy, dear, that you could give to me? I'm Bridget's " torment of her life, that makes her brain run wild," And mamma's "darling little elf," and grandpa's " blessed child ;" And Uncle Johnny's "Touch me not," and papa's " 'Gyptian queen:" I make them stand about, you see ; that must be what they mean. For opening hard old, stony hearts, I have two precious keys, And one is, "Oh, I thank you, sir;" the other, " If you please ;" And if these do not answer, I know another trick : I squeeze two little tear-drops out ; that melts them pretty quick. I'm sweet as any lily-bed, and sweeter too, I s'pose, But that's no reason why I shouldn't rumple up my clothes. Oh, would I be an angel, if an angel never cries, Nor soils its pretty pinafore a-making nice dirt pies ? I'm but a little lassie, with a thimble- ful of sense, And as to being very wise, I'd best make no pretence ; But when I am a woman grown, now don't you think I'll do, If only just about as good as dear mamma and you? Little Corporal. PLAY-DAYS. 39 ANNIE. I've a sweet little pet ; she is up with the lark. And at eve she's asleep when the val- leys are dark, And she chatters and dances the blessed day long, Now laughing in gladness, now sing- ing a song. She never is silent ; the whole sum- mer day She is off on the green with the blos- soms at play, Now seeking a buttercup, plucking a rose, Or laughing aloud at the thistle she blows. She never is still ; now at some merry elf You'll smile as you watch her, in spite of yourself; You may chicle her in vain, for those eyes, full of fun, Are smiling in mirth at the mischiei she's done ; And whatever you do, that same thing, without doubt, * Must the mischievous Annie be busied about. She's as brown as a nut, but a beauty to me, And there's nothing her keen little eyes cannot see. She dances and sings, and has many sweet airs, And to infant accomplishments add- ing her prayers. I have told everything that the darl- ing can do, For 'twas only last summer her years numbered two. She's the picture of health, and a Southern-born thing, Just as ready to weep as she's ready to sing ; And I fain would be foe to lip that hath smiled At this wee bit of song of the dear little child. MY LOVE, ANNIE. Soft of voice and light of hand As the fairest in the land, — "Who can rightly understand My Love, Annie ? Simple in her thoughts and ways, True in every word she says, — ^Yho shall even dare to praise My Love, Annie? 40 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. 'Midst a naughty world, and rude, Never in ungentle mood, Never tired of being good — My Love, Annie. Hundreds of the wise and great Might o'erlook her meek estate, But on her good angels wait — My Love, Annie. Many or few the loves that may Shine upon her silent way — God will love her night and day, My Love, Annie. Dinah Maria Mulock Craik. GOLDEN-TRESSED ADELAIDE. A Song for a Child. Sing, I pray, a little song, Mother dear! Neither sad nor very long : It is for a little maid, Golden-tressed Adelaide ! Therefore let it suit a merry, merry ear, Mother dear. Let it be a merry strain, Mother dear ! Shunning e'en the thought of pain : For our gentle child will weep If the theme be dark and deep ; And we will not draw a single, single tear, Mother dear! Childhood should be all divine, Mother dear ! And like an endless summer shine ; Gay as Edward's shouts and cries, Bright as Agnes' azure eyes : Therefore bid thy song be merry : — dost thou hear. Mother dear ? Bryan Waller Procter (Barry Cornwall). FATHER AT PLAY. Such fun as we had one rainy day, When father was home and helped us play, And made a ship and hoisted sail, And crossed the sea in a fear- ful gale ! But we hadn't sail'd into Lon- don town, When captain, and crew, and vessel went down — Down, down in a jolly wreck, With the captain rolling under' the deck. But he broke out again with a lion's roar, And we on two legs, he on four, PLAY-DAYS. 41 Ran out of the parlor, and up the stair, And frightened mamma and the baby there. So mamma said she would be p'lice- man now, And tried to 'rest us. She didn't know how ! Then the lion laughed, and forgot to roar, Till we chased him out of the nursery door ; And then he turned to a pony gay, And carried us all on his back away. Whippity, lickity, kickity, ho ! If we hadn't fun, then I don't know ! Till we tumbled off, and he cantered on, Never stopping to see if his load w T as gone. And I couldn't tell any more than he Which was Charlie and which was me, Or which was Towser, for, all in a mix, You'd think three people had turird to six, Till Towser's tail had caught in a door ; He wouldn't hurrah with us any more ; And mamma came out the rumpus to quiet, And told us a story to break up the riot. Hannah Moke Johnson. A LITTLE GIRL'S LETTER. Dear Grandma, I will try to write A very little letter : If I don't spell the words all right, Why, next time I'll do better. My little rabbit is alive, And likes his milk and clover ; He likes to see me very much, But is afraid of Rover. I've got a dove, as white as snow, I call her " Polly Feather ;" She flies and hops about the yard, In every kind of weather. I think she likes to see it rain, For then she smooths her jacket ; And seems to be so proud and vain, The turkeys make a racket. The hens are picking off the grass, And singing very loudly ; While our old peacock struts about And shows his colors proudly. I guess I'll close my letter now, I've nothing more to tell ; Please answer soon, and come to see Your loving little Nell ! Wisconsin Farmer. POLLY'S DOLLY. Shining eyes, very blue, Opened very wide ; Yellow curls, very stiff, Hanging side by side ; Chubby cheeks, very pink ; Lips red as holly ; No ears, and only thumbs — That's Polly's dolly ! Merry eyes, very round ; Hair crimped and long ; 42 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. Two little cherry lips, Sending forth a song ; Very plump, and rather short ; Grand ways to Dolly ; Fond of games, fond of fun — That's Dolly's Polly. Dolly ! I make all your clothes- Don 't I make them neatly ? And to you I sing my song — Don't I sing it sweetly ? I gave you a pinafore, With many ribbons gay ; And I sing and talk to you, Till darkness hides the day. " Yet you never thank me, Doll — - You never say a word ; You are not half as grateful, Doll, As pussy-cat or bird. Pussy purrs, and birdie sings, But you are like a mouse — Never even thanked me, Doll, For pretty bran-new house ! '* To be sure, you never cry When I bump your head ; And once you out of window fell, Yet not a word you said. And if I e'er forget you, Doll, And leave you in your place All the day, yet not a frown Is seen upon your face. " You shall teach me, Dolly dear, Not to cry or pout, If any one is cross to me, And no one takes me out. I wish that I could teach you, Doil. All prettily to say 'Thank you !' when I sing to you, And give you ribbons gay." THE LOST DOLL. I once had a sweet little doll, dears, The prettiest doll in the world ; Her cheeks were so red and so white, dears, And her hair was so charmingly curled. But I lost my poor little doll, dears, As I played in the heath one day ; And I cried for her more than a week, dears, But I never could find where she lay. I found my poor little doll, dears, As I played in the heath one day ; Folks say she is terribly changed, dears, For her paint is all washed away. And her arm trodden off by the cows, dears, And her hair not the least bit curled ; Yet for old sakes' sake she is still, dears, The prettiest doll in the world. Chart-es Kingsley. PLAY-DAYS. 43 DOCTOR'S VISIT. LITTLE MAMMA, WITH A SICK DOLL. Come and see my baby dear ; Doctor, she is ill, I fear. Yesterday, do what I would, She would touch no kind of food, And she tosses, moans, and cries. Doctor, what do you advise ? DOCTOR. Hum ! ha ! Good madam, tell me, pray, What have you offered her to-day? Ah, yes, I see — a piece of cake ; The worst thing you could make her take. Just let me taste. Yes, yes, I fear Too many plums and currants here ; But stop ! I will just taste again, So as to make the matter plain. LITTLE MAMMA. But, doctor, pray excuse me ; oh, You've eaten all my cake up now I I thank you kindly for your care, But do you think 'twas hardly fair? DOCTOR. Oh, dear me ! Did I eat the cake ? "Well, it was for dear Baby's sake. But keep her in her bed, well warm, And you will see she'll take no harm. At night and morning use, once more. Her drink and powder as before ; And she must not be over-fed, But may just have a piece of bread. To-morrow, then. I dare to say, She'll be quite right. Good-day ! good- day ! 41 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. THE NEW DOLL. Dear doll, how I love you ! Your form is so fair, Your eyes are like diamonds, And curly your hair ; I never get weary Of seeing your face ; And 3^011 are so lovely, I call you " Miss Grace." My kind mamma bought you One day at a fair, All dressed out so gayly, And wrapped up with care. She gave me a workbox, Cloth, scissors, and thread, To make tiny sheets For your neat little bed. Here's silk for your dresses, And ribbons to trim ; I'll make you as fine as My wax " Dolly Prim." My mamma loves order ■ So, Gracie, you see If I don't keep my workbox As neat as can be. No silk shall be ravelled, No spool shall be lost ; I'll obey her, no matter What labor it cost ; PLAY-DAYS. 45 I'll take tiny stitches, And hem every skirt, Nor scollop with scissors Like wild Kitty Flirt. And thus I'll be learning To make my own clothes, And help mamma sew For our sweet baby Rose ; For, mind you, Miss Gracie, I sha'n't always play With dolls ; I hope I'll be A tall woman some day. Then I hope to make garments Much larger than these — Warm hoods, gowns, and cloaks, That the poor may not freeze ; And then, if I'm asked where I got all my skill, I'll tell them 'twas making Your dress, cloak, and frill. THE DOLL-BABY SHOW. Our doll-baby show, it was something quite grand; You saw there the loveliest dolls in the land. Each girl brought her own, in its pret- tiest dress ; Three pins bought a ticket, and not a pin less. For the doll that was choicest we of- fered a prize ; There were wee mites of dollies, and some of great size ; Some came in rich purple, some lilac, some white, With ribbons and laces — a wonderful sight ! Now, there was one dolly so tall and so proud She put all the others quite under a cloud ; But one of us hinted, in so many words, That sometimes fine feathers do not make fine birds. We sat in a row, with our dolls in our laps ; The dolls behaved sweetly, and met no mishaps. No boys were admitted — for boys will make fun ; Now which do you think was the dolly that won ? Soon all was commotion to hear who would get The prize ; for the dollies' committee had met; We were the committee ; and which do you think Was the doll we decided on, all in a wink ? Why, each of us said that our own was the best, The finest, the sweetest, the prettiest drest ; So we all got the prize. We'll invite you to go The next time we girls have our doll- baby show. George Cooper. THE DEAD DOLL. You needn't be trying to comfort me. I tell you my dolly is dead ! There's no use saying she isn't, with a crack like that in her head. 46 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. It's just like you said it wouldn't hurt much to have my tooth out that day; And then, when the man 'most pulled my head off', you hadn't a word to say. And I guess you must think I'm a baby, when you say you can mend it with glue ! As if I didn't know better than that ! Why, just suppose it was you ! You might make her look all mended — but what do I care for looks ? Why, glue's for chairs, and tables, and toys, and the backs of books ! My dolly ! my own little daughter ! Oh, but it's the awfullest crack ! It just makes me sick to think of the sound when her poor head went whack ! Against that horrible brass thing that holds up the little shelf. — Now, Nursey, what makes you remind me ? I know that I did it myself. I think you must be crazy — you'll get her another head ! What good would forty heads do her ? I tell you my dolly is dead ! And to think I hadn't quite finished her elegant new spring hat ! And I took a sweet ribbon of hers last night to tie on that horrid cat ! When my mamma gave me that rib- bon — I was playing out in the yard- She said to me most expressly, " Here's a ribbon for Hildegarde." And I went and put it on Tabby, and Hildegarde saw me do it ; But I said to myself, " Oh, never mind; I don't believe she knew it." But I know that she knew it now, and I just believe, I do, That her poor little heart was broken, and so her head broke too. Oh, my haby ! my little baby ! I wish my head had been hit ! For I've hit it over and over, and it hasn't cracked a bit. But since the darling is dead, she'll want to be buried, of course ; We will take my little wagon, Nurse, and you shall be the horse ; And I'll walk behind and cry; and Ave'll put her in this, you see — This dear little box — and we'll bury her then under the maple tree. And papa will make me a tombstone, like the one he made for my bird ; And he'll put what I tell him on it — yes, every single word ! I shall say : " Here lies Hildegarde, a beautiful doll who is dead ; She died of a broken heart and a dreadful crack in her head !" Margaret Vandegrift. VOYAGE IN THE ARM-CHAIR. Oh, papa ! dear papa ! we've had such a fine game ! We played at a sail on the sea ; The old arm-chair made such a beau- tiful ship, And it sailed, oh, as nice as could be. PLAY- DAYS. 47 AVe made Mary the captain, and Bob was the boy Who cried, "Ease her," and "Back her," and " Slow ;" And Jane was the steersman who stands at the wheel, And I watched the engines below. We had for a passenger grandmam- ma's cat, And as Tom couldn't pay he went free ; From the fireside we sailed at half- past two o'clock, And we got to the sideboard at three. But oh ! only think, dear papa, when halfway Tom overboard jumped to the floor, And though we cried out, "Tom, come back ; don't be drowned," He galloped right out of the door. But papa, dear papa, listen one mo- ment more, Till I tell } r ou the end of the sail : From the sideboard we went at five minutes past three, And at four o'clock saw such a whale ! The whale was the sofa, and it, dear papa, Is at least twice as large as our ship ; Our captain called out, " Turn the ship round about ! Oh, I wish we had not come on this trip !" And we all cried, " Oh yes, let us get away home, And hide in some corner quite snug;" So we sailed for the fireside as quick as we could, And we landed all safe on the rug. AMONG THE ANIMALS. One rainy morning, Just for a lark, I jumped and stamped On my new Noah's Ark ; I crushed an elephant, Smashed a gnu, And snapped a camel Clean in two ; I finished the wolf Without half tryin', And wild hyena And roaring lion ; I knocked down Ham, And Japhet, too, And cracked the legs Of the kangaroo ; I finished, besides, Two pigs and a donkey, A polar bear, Opossum, and monkey ; Also the lions, Tigers, and cats, And dromedaries, And tiny rats. There wasn't a thing That didn't feel, Sooner or later, The weight o' my heel ; I felt as grand As grand could be ; But oh the whipping My mammy gave me ! Mary Mapes Dodjse. TOMMY'S ARMY. I've got two hundred soldiers, An army brave and true ; And some are dressed in blue and red, And some in white and blue. 48 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK^QF POETRY ~ w^& I put them in the window-seat, And make them drill in line ; March, march, stiff as starch, Little soldiers mine! Marching along, marching along, Little lead soldiers, gallant and strong. There are fifty little clean white tents, And half a dozen forts, And twenty bright brass cannon, And all of different sorts. I put them in the window-seat, And don't they just look fine ? March, march, stiff as starch, Little soldiers mine ! Marching along, marching along, Little lead soldiers, gallant and strong. I'd like to be a soldier, And wear the red and blue ; I suppose the shots don't hurt as much As people say they do. My soldiers never mind the peas, Although they hit so strong, And Avhen they fall I pick them up, And make them march along. Marching along, marching along, Little lead soldiers, gallant and strong. Frederick E. Weatherly. PLAYING KING. Ho ! I'm a king, a king ! A crown is on my head, A sword is at my side, and regal is my tread ; Ho, slave ! proclaim my will to all the people round : The schools are hereby closed ; hence- forth must fun abound. Vacation shall not end; all slates I order smashed ; The man who says "Arithmetic," he must be soundly thrashed ; All grammars shall be burnt; the spellers we will tear; The boy who spells correctly, a fool's cap he shall wear. No dolls shall be allowed, for dolls are what I hate ; The girls must give them up, and learn to swim and skate ; Confectioners must charge only a cent a pound For all the plums and candy that in the shops are found. That man who asks a dime for any pear or peach, 111 have him hung so high that none his feet can reach ; PLAY-DAYS. 49 No baker is allowed hereafter to bake bread — He must bake only pies and cake and ginger-snaps instead. All lecturers must quit our realm with- out delay ; The circus-men and clowns, on pain of death, must stay ; All folk who frown on fun at once must banished be. Xow, fellow, that you know my will, to its fulfilment see ! Alfred Selwyn. WILLIE WINKIE. Wee Willie Winkie rins through the town, Up stairs and doon stairs, in his nicht- gown, Tirlin' at the window, cryin' at the lock, "Are the weans in their bed ? — for it's now ten o'clock." Hey, Willie Winkie ! are ye comin' ben? The cat's singin' gay thrums to the sleepin' hen, The doug's speldered on the floor, and disna gie a cheep ; But here's a waukrife laddie that winna fa' asleep. Onything but sleep, ye rogue ! — glow- erin' like the moon, Rattlin' in an aim jug wi' an aim spoon, Rumblin,' tumblin' roun' about, craw- in' like a cock, Skirlin' like a kenna-what — wauknin' sleepin' folk. 4 Hey, Willie Winkie ! the we"an's in a creel ! Waumblin' aff a bodie's knee like a vera eel, Ruggin' at the cat's lug, and ravellin' a' her thrums : Hey, Willie Winkie! — See, there he comes ! Weary is the mither that has a storie wean, A wee stumpie stoussie, that canna rin his lane, That has a battle aye wi' sleep before he'll close an ee ; But a kiss frae aff his rosy lips gies strength anew to me. William Miller. "HOLD FAST WHAT I GIVE YOU." " Molly, and Maggie, and Alice, Three little maids in a row, At play in an arbor palace, Where the honeysuckles grow, — " Six dimpled palms press'd together. Even and firm, two by two, — Three eager, upturned faces, Bonny brown eyes and blue. " Which shall it be, you charmers ? Alas ! I am sorely tried,- — I, a hard-hearted old hermit. Who the question am set to decide. " Molly, the sprite, the darling, Shaking her shower of curls, Whose laugh is the brook's own rip- ple, Gayest and gladdest of girls ? " Maggie, the wild little brownie, Every one's plaything and pet, 50 THE CHILDREN'S again Who leads me a chase through the garden For a kiss, the wicked coquette ? " Or Alice ? — ah ! shy-eyed Alice, Looking so softly down Under her long, dark lashes And hair so golden brown, — " Alice Avho talks with the flowers, And says there are none so wise, — Who knows there are elves and fairies, For hasn't she seen their bright eyes? " There ! there ! at last I am ready To go down the bright eager row ; So, up with your hands, my Graces, Close, — nobody else must know. " ' Hold fast what I give you,' Molly ! (Poor little empty palms !) ' Hold fast what I give you,' Maggie ! (A frown steals over her charms.) " ' Hold fast what I give you,' Alice ! You smile, — do you so much care? Unclasp your little pink fingers : Ah ha ! the button is there ! " But do you know, sweet Alice, All that I give you to keep ? For into my heart you have stolen, As sunbeams to shadows creep. " You a glad little maiden, — How old are you ? Only nine, — With your bright, brown hair all shining, While the gray is coming to mine. " No matter, you'll be my true-love, And come to my old arms so ; And ' hold fast what I give you,' Alice, For nobody else must know." Lily Warner. BOOK OF POETRY, -WHAT? | What was it that Charlie saw, to- day, Down in the pool where the cattle lie? A shoal of the spotted trout at play ? Or a sheeny dragon-fly ? The fly and the fish were there in- deed ; But as for the ipuzjXe, — guess It was neither a shell, nor flower, nor reed, Nor the nest of a last year's wren. Some willows droop to the brooklet's bed ; — Who knows but a bee had fallen down ? Or a spider, swung from his broken thread, Was learning the way to drown ? You have not read me the riddle yet. Not even the Aving of a wounded bee, Nor the web of a spider, torn and wet, Did Charlie this morning see. Now answer, you who have grown so wise, — What could the wonderful sight have been, But the dimpled face and great blue eyes Of the rogue who was looking in ? Kate Putnam Osgood. PLAY-DAYS. 51 A COMFORTER. " Will she come to me, little Erne ? Will she come in my arms to rest, And nestle her head on my shoulder, While the sun goes down in the west ? " I and Erne will sit together, All alone in this great arm-chair : — Is it silly to mind it, darling, When life is so hard to bear ? " No one comforts me like my Effie, Just I think that she does not try, — Only looks with a wistful wonder Why grown people should ever cry ; " While her little soft arms close tighter Round my neck in their clinging hold ;— Well, I must not cry on your hair, dear, For my tears might tarnish the gold. " I am tired of trying to read, dear ; It is worse to talk and seem gay : There are some kinds of sorrow, Effie, It is useless to thrust away. " Ah, advice may be wise, my darling, But one always knows it before, And the reasoning down one's sorrow Seems to make one suffer the more. 52 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OE POETRY. " But my Effie won't reason, will she? Or endeavor to understand ? Only holds up her mouth to kiss me As she strokes my faee with her hand. " If you break your plaything your- self, dear, Don't you cry for it all the same? I don't think it is such a comfort One has only one's self to blame. " People say things cannot be helped, dear, But then that is the reason why ; For if things could be helped or al- tered, One would never sit down to cry. " They say, too, that tears are quite useless To undo, amend, or restore ; When I think haw useless, my Effie, Then my tears only fall the more. " All to-day I struggled against it, But that does not make sorrow cease, And now, dear, it is such a comfort To be able to cry in peace. , " Though wise people would call that folly, And remonstrate with grave surprise, We won't mind what they say, my Effie — We never professed to be wise. " But my comforter knows a lesson Wiser, truer than all the rest — That to help and to heal a sorrow Love and silence are always best. " Well, who is my comforter — tell me ? Effie smiles, but she will not speak, Or look up through the long curled lashes That are shading her rosy cheek. " Is she thinking of talking fishes, The blue-bird, or magical tree? Perhaps 7 am thinking, my darling, Of something that never can be. " You long — don't you, dear, — for the genii, Who were slaves of lamps and of rings ? And I — I am sometimes afraid, dear, I want as impossible things. " But hark ! there is Nurse calling Effie! It is bedtime ; so run away ; And I must go back, or the others Will be wondering why I stay. " So good-night to my darling Effie ; Keep happy, sweetheart, and grow wise : There's one kiss for her golden tresses. And two for her sleepy eyes." Adelaide Anne Pkocter. MAMMA'S KISSES. A kiss when I wake in the morning, A kiss when I go to bed, A kiss when I burn my fingers, A kiss when I bump my head; A kiss when my bath is over, A kiss when my bath begins ; My mamma is as full of kisses — As full as nurse is of pins. A kiss when I play with ni} 7 rattle, A kiss when I pull her hair ; She covered me over with kisses The clay that I fell down stair. A kiss when I give her trouble, A kiss when I give her joy : There's nothing like mamma's kisses To her own little baby-boy. "LITTLE CHILDREN, LOVE ONE ANOTHER." A little girl, with a happy look, Sat slowly reading a ponderous book All bound with velvet and edged with gold, And its weight was more than the child could hold ; Yet dearly she loved to ponder it o'er, And every day she prized it more; For it said — and she looked at her smiling mother — i It said, " Little children, love one an- other." She thought it was beautiful in the book, And the lesson home to her heart she took ; She walked on her way with a trust- ing grace, And a dove-like look in her meek young face, Which said, just as plain as words could say, " The Holy Bible I must obey; So, mamma, I'll be kind to my darling brother, For little children must love each other. " I'm sorr)- he's naughty, and will not play ; But I'll love him still, for I think the way To make him gentle and kind to me Will be better shown if I let him see I strive to do what I think is right ; And thus, when I kneel in prayer to- night, 54 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. I will clasp my hands around my brother, And say, ' Little children love one an- other.' " The little girl did as her Bible taught, And pleasant indeed was the change it wrought; For the boy looked up in glad sur- prise, To meet the light of her loving eyes : His heart was full, he could not speak, But he pressed a kiss on his sister's cheek ; And God looked down on that happy mother Whose little children loved each other. Aunt Mary. MAKING MUD-PIES. Under the apple tree, spreading and thick, Happy with only a pan and a stick, On the soft grass in the shadow that lies, Our little Fanny is making mud- pies. On her brown apron and bright droop- ing head Showers of pink and white blossoms are shed ; Tied to a branch that seems meant just for that, Dances and nutters her little straw hat. Dash, full of joy in the bright summer day, Zealously chases the robins away, Barks at the squirrels or snaps at the flies, All the while Fanny is making mud- pies. Sunshine and soft summer breezes astir While she is busy are busy with her ; Cheeks rosy glowing and bright spark- ling eyes Bring they to Fanny while making mud-pies. Dollies and playthings are all laid away, Not to come out till the next rainy day ; Under the blue of these sweet sum- mer skies Nothing's so pleasant as making mud- pies. Gravely she stirs, with a serious look " Making believe " she's a true pastry cook ; Sundry brown splashes on forehead and eyes Show that our Fanny is making mud- pies. But all the soil of her innocent play Soap and clean water will soon wash away ; Many a pleasure in daintier guise Leaves darker traces than Fanny's mud-pies. PLAT-DAYS. 55 WWTOJs^ THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. Between the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupa- tions, That is known as the Children's Hour. I hear in the chamber above me The patter of little feet. The sound of a door that is opened, And voices soft and sweet. From my study I see in the lamp- light, Descending the broad hall-stair, Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, And Edith with golden hair. A whisper, and then a silence : Yet I know by their merry eyes They are plotting and planning to- gether To take me by surprise. A sudden rush from the stairway, A sudden raid from the hall ! By three doors left unguarded They enter my castle-wall ! They climb up into my turret, O'er the arms and back of my chair ; If I try to escape they surround me; They seem to be everywhere. They almost devour me with kisses, Their arms about me entwine, Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine! Do you think, blue-eyed banditti, Because you have scaled the wall, Such an old moustache as I am Is not a match for you all '? 56 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY I have } r ou fast in my fortress, And will not let you depart, But put you down into the dungeon In the round-tower of my heart. Kitty — ah, how my heart blesses Kitty, my lily, my rose ! Wary of all my caresses, Chary of all she bestows. And there will I keep you for ever, Yes, for ever and a day, Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, And moulder in dust away ! Henby Wadswobth Longfellow. MY CHILDREN. Have you seen Annie and Kitty, Two merry children of mine? All that is winning and pretty Their little persons combine. Annie is kissing and clinging Dozens of times in a day — Chattering, laughing, and singing, Romping and running away. Annie knows all of her neighbors, Dainty and dirty alike — Learns all their talk, and, "bejabers," Says she " adores little Mike." Annie goes mad for a flower, Eager to pluck and destroy — Cuts paper dolls by the hour, Always her model — a boy. Annie is full of her fancies, Tells most remarkable lies ( Innocent little romances, Startling in one of her size). Three little prayers we have taught her, Graded from winter to spring ; Oh, you should listen my daughter Saying them all in a string ! Kitty loves quietest places, Whispers sweet sermons to chairs, And with the gravest of faces Teaches old Carlo his prayers. Matronly, motherly creature ! Oh, what a doll she has built — Guiltless of figure or feature — Out of her own little quilt! Naught must come near it to wake it ; Noise must not give it alarm ; And when she sleeps she must take it Into her bed on her arm. Kitty is shy of a caller, Uttering never a word, ' But when alone in the parlor Talks to herself like a bird. Kitty is contrary, rather, And, with a comical smile, Mutters " I won't " to her father, Eying him slyly the while. Loving one more than the other Isn't the thing, I confess ; And I observe that their mother Makes no distinction in dress. Preference must be improper In a relation like this ; I wouldn't toss up a copper — Kitty, come, give me a kiss ! J. G. Holland. PLAY-DAYS. 57 LITTLE HELPERS. Planting the corn and potatoes. Helping to scatter the seeds, Feeding the hens and the chickens, Freeing the garden from weeds, Driving the cows to the pasture, Feeding the horse in the stall, — We little children are busy ; Sure, there is work for us all, Helping Papa. Spreading the hay in the sunshine, Raking it up when it's dry, Picking the apples and peaches Down in the orchard hard by, Picking the grapes in the vineyard, Gathering nuts in the fall, — We little children are busy ; Yes, there is work for us all, Helping Papa. Sweeping and washing the dishes, Bringing the wood from the shed, Ironing, sewing, and knitting, Helping to make up the beds, Taking good care of the baby, Watching her lest she should fall,- We little children are busy ; Oh, there is work for us all. Helping Mamma. Work makes us cheerful and happy Makes us both active and strong ; Play we enjoy all the better When we have labored so long. Gladly we help our kind parents. Quickly we come to their call, Children should love to be busy, — There is much work for us all, Helping Papa and Mamma. 58 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY LITTLE FINGERS. Busy little fingers, Everywhere they go, Rosy little fingers, The sweetest that I know ! Now into my- work-box, All the buttons finding, Tangling up the knitting, Every spool unwinding ! Now into the basket Where the keys are hidden, Full of mischief looking, Knowing it forbidden. Then in mother's tresses, Now her neck enfolding, With such sweet caresses Keeping off a scolding. Daring little fingers, Never, never still ! Make them, heavenly Father, Always do thy will. "Apples of Gold." NOTHING TO DO. I have sailed my boat and spun my top, And handled my last new ball ; I trundled my hoop till I had to stop, And I swung till I got a fall ; I tumbled my books all out of the shelves, And hunted the pictures through ; I've flung them where they may sort themselves, ■ And now — I have nothing to do. The Tower of Babel I built of blocks Came down with a crash to the floor ; My train of cars ran over the rocks — I'll warrant they'll run no more; PLAY-DAYS. 59 I have raced with Grip till I'm out of breath ; My slate is broken in two, So I can't draw monkeys. I'm tired to death Because I have nothing to do. I can see where the boys have gone to fish; They bothered me, too, to go, But for fun like that I hadn't a wish, For I think it's mighty " slow " To sit all day at the end of a rod For the sake of a minnow or two, Or to land, at the farthest, an eel on the sod : I'd rather have nothing to do. Maria has gone to the woods for flow- ers, And Luc} T and Rose are away After berries. I'm sure they've been out for hours ; I wonder what makes them stay ? Ned wanted to saddle Brunette for me. But riding is nothing new ; " I was thinking you'd relish a canter," said he, " Because you have nothing to do.'' I wish I was poor Jim Foster's son. For he seems so happy and gay, When his wood is chopped and his work all done, With his little half hour of play : He neither has books nor top nor ball, Yet he's singing the whole clay through ; But then he is never tired at all Because he has nothing to do. 60 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. BOYS' PLAY AND GIRLS' PLAY. " Now, let's have a game of play, Lucy, Jane, and little May ! I will be a grizzly bear, Prowling here and prowling then Sniffing round and round about, Till I find you children out; And my dreadful den shall be Deep within the hollow tree." " Oh no ! jjlease not, Robert dear, Do not be a grizzly bear; Little May was half afraid When she heard the noise you made. Roaring like a lion strong, Just now as you came along ; And she'll scream and start to- night If you give her any fright." " Well, then, I will be a fox ! You shall be the hens and cocks, In the farmer's apple tree Crowing out so lustily ; I will softly creep this way — Peep — and pounce upon my prey ; And I'll bear you to my den, Where the fern grows in the glen." PLAY-DAYS. 61 "Oh no, Robert ! you're so strong, While you're dragging us along I'm afraid you'll tear our frocks : We won't play at hens and cocks." " If you won't play fox or bears, I'm a dog, and you be hares ; Then you'll only have to run, — Girls are never up to fun." "You've your play, and we have ours. Go and climb the trees again ! I, and little May, and Jane, Are so happy with our flowers ! Jane is culling foxglove bells, May and I are making posies, And we want to search the dells For the latest summer roses." Mrs. Hawtrey. THE SLEEPY LITTLE SISTER. I sat, one evening, watching A little golden head That was nodding o'er a picture-book, And pretty soon I said, " Come, darling, you are sleep}^, Don't you want to go to bed ?" " No," she said, " I isn't sleepy, But I can't hold up my head. iC Just now it feels so heavy There isn't any use ; Do let me lay it down to rest On dear old Mother Goose. I sha'n't shut up my eyes at all, And so you need not fear ; I'll keep them open all the while, To see this picture here." And then, as I said nothing, She settled for a nap ; One curl was resting on the frill Of the old lady's cap ; Her arms embraced the children small Inhabiting the shoe ; " Oh dear !" thought I, " what shall I say? For this will never do." I sat a while in silence, Till the clock struck its " ding, ding," And then I went around and kissed The cunning little thing. The violets unfolded As I kissed her, and she said, " I isn't sleepy, sister, But I guess I'll go to bed." GEORIilANA M'NEIL. THE RABBIT ON THE WALL. The cottage-work is over, The evening meal is done ; Hark ! through the starlit stillness You hear the river run ; The cotter's children whisper, Then speak out one and all : " Come, father, make for Johnny A rabbit on the wall." He smilingly assenting, They gather round his chair : '• Now, grandma, you hold Johnny Don't let the candle flare." So speaking, from his fingers He throws a shadow tall, That seems the moment after A rabbit on the wall. The children shout with laughter. The uproar louder grows, E'en grandma chuckles faintly, And Johnny chirps and crows. 82 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. There ne'er was gilded painting Hung up in lordly hall Gave half the simple pleasure This rabbit on the wall. Ah ! who does not remember When humble sports like these Than many a costlier pastime Had greater power to please ? When o'er life's autumn pathway The sere leaves thickly fall, How oft we sigh, recalling The rabbit on the wall ! Catherine Allan. UNDER MY WINDOW. Under my window, under my win- dow, All in the midsummer weather, Three little girls with fluttering curls Flit to and fro together : — There's Bell with her bonnet of satin sheen, And Maud with her mantle of silver green, And Kate with her scarlet feather. Under my window, under my win- dow, Leaning stealthily over, Merry and clear the voice I hear Of each glad-hearted rover. Ah ! sly little Kate, she steals my roses ; And Maud and Bell twine wreaths and posies, As merry as bees in clover. Under my window, under my win- dow, In the blue midsummer weather, Stealing slow, on a hushed tiptoe, I catch them all together : — Bell with her bonnet of satin sheen, And Maud with her mantle of silver green, And Kate with the scarlet feather. Under my window, under my win- dow, And off through the orchard-closes, While Maud she flouts, and Bell she pouts, They scamper and drop their posies. But dear little Kate takes, naught amiss, And leaps in my arms with a loving kiss, And I give her all my roses. Thomas Westwood. LETTING THE OLD CAT DIE. Not long ago I wandered near A play-ground in the wood, And there heard a thing from youth- ful lips That I've never understood. " Now let the old cat die," he laughed ; I saw him give a push, Then gayly scamper away as he spied My face peep over the bush. But what he pushed, or where it went, I could not well make out, On account of the thicket of bending boughs That bordered the place about. " The little villain has stoned a cat, Or hung it upon a limb, And left it to die all alone," I said ; ■ " But I'll play the mischief with Aim." PLAY-DAYS. 63 I forced my way between the boughs, The poor old cat to seek ; And what did I find but a swinging child, With her bright hair brushing her cheek ! Her bright hair floated to and fro, Her red little dress flashed by, But the liveliest thing of all, I thought, Was the gleam of her laughing eye. Swinging and swaying back and forth, With the rose-light in her face, She seemed like a bird and a flower in one, And the wood her native place. " Steady ! I'll send you up, my child !" But she stopped me with a cry : " Go 'way ! go 'way ! Don't touch me. please ; I'm letting the old cat die !" " You letting him die !" I cried aghast : " Why, where is the cat, my dear? 1 ' And lo! the laughter that filled the woods Was a thing for the birds to hear. " Why, don't you know," said the lit- tle maid, The flitting, beautiful elf, " That we call it ' letting the old cat die ' When the swing stops all itself?" Then floating and swinging, and look- ing back With merriment in her eye, She bade me "good-day," and I left her alone, A-letting the old cat die. Mary Mapes Dodge. 64 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. POLLY. Brown eyes, Straight nose ; Dirt-pies, Rumpled clothes ; Torn books, Spoilt toys ; Arch looks, Unlike a boy's ; Little rages, Obvious arts ; (Three her age is), Cakes, tarts ; Falling down Off chairs ; Breaking crown Down stairs ; Catching flies On the pane ; Deep sighs — Cause not plain ; Bribing you With kisses For a few Farthing blisses ; Wide awake, As you hear, " Mercy's sake ! Quiet, dear!" New shoes, New frock ; Vague views # Of what's o'clock When it's time To go to bed, And scorn sublime For what is said ; Folded hands, Saying prayers, Understands Not, nor cares ; Thinks it odd ; Smiles away ; Yet may God Hear her pray ! Bed-gown white, Kiss Dolly ; Good night ! — That's Polly. Fast asleep, As you see ; Heaven keep My girl for me! "Lilliput Levee.' PLAY-DAYS. 65 IN THE CLOSET. They've taken away the ball, Oh dear ! And I'll never get it back, I fear ; And now they've gone away, And left me here to stay All alone the live-long-day In here. It was my ball, anyway — Not his, For he never had a ball Like this. Such a coward you'll not see, E'en if you should live to be Old as Deuteronomy, As he is. I'm sure I meant no harm — None at all ! I just held out my hand For the ball, And somehow it hit his head ; Then his nose it went and bled. And as if. I'd killed him dead He did bawl. Nursey said I was a horrid Little wretch, And Aunt Jane said the police She would fetch ; And cook, who's always glad Of a chance to make me mad, Said, " Indeed, she niver had Seen setch !" No, I never, never will Be good ! I'll go and be a babe In the wood ! 5 I'll run away to sea, And a pirate I will be ! Then they'll never call me Rough and rude. How hungry I am getting ! Let me see — I wonder what they're going to have For tea ? Of course there will be jam, And that lovely potted ham. How unfortunate I am ! Dear me ! Oh ! it's growing very dark In here, And the shadow in that corner Looks so queer ! Won't they bring me any light ? Must I stay in here all night ? I shall surely die of fright ; Oh dear! Mother, darling ! will you never Come back ? I am sorry that I hit him Such a crack ! Hark ! Yes, 'tis her voice I hear ! Now good-bye to every fear. For she's calling me her dear Little Jack ! Laura E. Richards. MY GOOD-FOR-NOTHING. " What are you good for, my brave little man ? Answer that question for me. if you can — You, with your fingers as white as a nun, You, with your ringlets as bright as the sun. 66 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. All the day long, with your busy con- triving, Into all mischief and fun you ' are driving ; See if your wise little noddle can tell What you are good for. Now ponder it well." Over the carpet the dear little feet Came with a patter to climb on my seat ; Two merry eyes, full of frolic and glee, Under their lashes looked up unto me ; Two little hands, pressing soft on my face, Drew me down close in a loving em- brace ; Two rosy lips gave the answer so true, " Good to love you, mamma — good to love you." Emily Huntington Miller. FATHER IS COMING. The clock is on the stroke of six, The father's work is done ; Sweep up the hearth, and mend the fire, And put the kettle on ; The wild night-wind is blowing cold, 'Tie dreary crossing o'er the wold. He's crossing o'er the wold apace, He's stronger than the storm ; He does not feel the cold ; not he — His heart it is so warm ; For father's heart is stout and true As ever human bosom knew ! He makes all toil, all hardship light ; Would all men were the same ! So ready to be pleased, so kind, So very slow to blame ! Folks need not be unkind, austere, For love hath readier will than fear. Nay, do not close the shutters, child. For far along the lane The little window looks, and he Can see it shining plain. I've heard him say he loves to mark The cheerful fire-light through the dark. And we'll do all that father likes ; His wishes are so few — Would they were more — that every hour Some wish of his I knew ! I'm sure it makes a happy day When I can please him any way. PLAY-DJTS. I know he's coining, by this sign — 'Hark! hark! I hear his footsteps That Bab^y's almost wild ; now ; See how he laughs, and crows, and He's through the garden-gate ; stares ! Run, little Bess, and ope the door, Heaven bless the merry child ! And do not let him wait ! He's father's self in face and limb, Shout, Baby, shout, and clap thy hands. And father's heart is strong in For father on the threshold stands ! Y^lYCi Mary Howitt. 68 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY A LITTLE GOOSE. The chill November day was done, The working-world home-faring ; The wind came roaring through the streets, And set the gas-lights flaring, And hopelessly and aimlessly The scared old leaves were flying, When, mingled with the soughing wind, I heard a small voice crying ; And shivering on the corner stood A child of four, or over ; No cloak or hat her small, soft arms And wind-blown curls to cover ; Her dimpled face was stained with tears, Her round blue eyes ran over ; She cherished in her wee, cold hand A bunch of faded clover. And, one hand round her treasure, while She slipped in mine the other, Half scared, half confidential, said, "Oh, please, I want my mother!" " Tell me your street and number, pet. Don't cry ; I'll take you to it," Sobbing, she answered, " I forget ; The organ made me do it. '" He came and played at Miller's step, The monkey took the money ; T followed down the street because That monkey was so funny. I've walked about a hundred hours, From one street to another ; The monkey's gone ; I've spoiled my flowers ; Oh, please, I want my mother !" But what's your mother's name, and what The street? Now think a min- ute." My mother's name is Mother Dear ; The street — I can't begin it." But what is strange about the house, Or new — not like the others ?" I guess you mean my trundle-bed — Mine and my little brother's. " Oh dear ! I ought to be at home To help him say his prayers — He's such a baby, he forgets, And we are both such players ; And there's a bar between, to keep From pitching on each other, For Harry rolls when he's asleep ; Oh dear ! I want my mother !" The sky grew stormy ; people passed, All muffled, homeward faring. " You'll have to spend the night with me," I said, at last, despairing. I tied a kerchief round her neck : " What ribbon's this, my blossom?" "Why, don't you know?" she, smiling, said, And drew it from her bosom. A card, with number, street, and name ! My e} 7 es astonished met it. " For," said the little one, " you see I might some time forget it, And so I wear a little thing That tells you all about it ; For mother says she's very sure I should get lost without it." Eliza Sproat Turner. PLAY-DAI "S. 09 MY MOTHER. Who fed me from her gentle breast, And hushed me in her arms to rest, And on my cheek sweet kisses pressYl ? My Mother. When sleep forsook my open eye, Who was it sang sweet hushaby, And rocked me that I should not ciy ? My Mother. Who sat and watched my infant head, When sleeping on my cradle bed, And tears of sweet affection shed ? My Mother. When pain and sickness made me cry, Who gazed upon my heavy eye, And wept for fear that I should die ? My Mother. Who dress'd my doll in clothes so gay, And taught me pretty how to play, And minded all I had to say '? My Mother. Who ran to help me when I fell, And would some pretty story tell, Or kiss the place to make it well '.' My Mother. Who taught my infant lips to pray, And love God's holy book and day, And walk in wisdom's pleasant way ? My Mother. And can I ever cease to be Affectionate and kind to thee. Who wast so very kind to me, My Mother. Ah no ! the thought I cannot bear. And if God please my life to spare. I hope I shall reward thy care. My Mother. When thou art feeble, old, and gray My healthy arms shall be thy stay, And I will soothe thy pains away, My Mother. 70 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. And when I see thee hang thy head, 'Twill be my turn to watch thy bed, And tears of sweet affection shed, My Mother. For God, who lives above the skies. Would look with vengeance in His eyes If I should ever dare despise My Mother. Jane Taylor. BEAUTIFUL GRANDMAMMA. Grandmamma sits in her quaint arm- chair ; Never was lady more sweet and fair ; Her gray locks ripple like silver shells, And her own brow its story tells Of a gentle life and peaceful even, Little girl May sits rocking away In her own low seat, like some win- some fay ; Two doll-babies her kisses share, And another one lies by the side of her chair ; May is as fair as the morning dew, Cheeks of roses, and ribbons of blue. " Say, grandmamma," says the pretty "elf, " Tell me a story about yourself. When you were little, what did you play? Were you good or naughty the whole long day ? Was it hundreds and hundreds of years ago ? And what makes your soft hair as white as snow ? " Did you have a mamma to hug and kiss ? And a dolly like this, and this, and this ? Did you have a pussy like my little Kate ? Did you go to bed when the clock struck eight ? Did you have long curls, and beads like mine, And a new silk apron with ribbons fine?" Grandmamma smiled at the little maid, And laying aside her knitting, she said : " Go to my desk, and a red box you'll see ; Carefully lift it and bring it to me." So May put her dollies away, and ran, A trust in God, and a hope in heaven. I Saying. " I'll be careful as ever I can. PLAY-DAYS. 71 The grandmamma opened the box, and lo ! A beautiful child with throat like snow, Lip just tinted like pink shells rare, Eyes of hazel and golden hair, Hand all dimpled, and teeth like pearls, — Fairest and sweetest of little girls. "Oh! who is it?" cried winsome May ; " How I wish she were here to-day ! Wouldn't I love her like everything ! Wouldn't I with her frolic and sing ! Say, dear grandmamma, w T ho can she be?" " Darling," said grandmamma, " I was she." May looked long at the dimpled grace, And then at the saint-like, fair old face. •' How funny !" she cried, with a smile and a kiss, " To have such a dear little grandma as this ! Still," she added with smiling zest, " I think, dear grandma, I like you best." So May climbed on the silken knee, And grandmamma told her history — What plays she played, what toys she had, How at times she was naughty, or good, or sad. " But the best thing you did." said May, " don't you see? Was to grow a beautiful grandma for me." Mary A. Dexison". ' JOHNNY'S OPINION OF GRANDMOTHERS Grandmothers are very nice folks ; They beat all the aunts in creation ; They let a chap do as he likes, And don't worry about education. I'm sure I can't see it at all What a poor feller ever could do For apples, and pennies, and cakes, Without a grandmother or two. Grandmothers speak softly to " ma's " To let a boy have a good time ; Sometimes they will whisper, 'tis true, T'other way w T hen a boy wants to climb. Grandmothers have muffins for tea. And pies, a whole row, in the cellar, And they're apt (if they know it in time") To make chicken-pies for a feller. And if he is bad now and then, And makes a great racketing noise, They only look over their specs And say, " Ah, these boys will be boys ! '' Life is only so short at the best : Let the children be happy to-day." Then they look for a while at the sky. And the hills that are far, far away. Quite often, as twilight comes on. Grandmothers sing hymns very low To themselves as they rock by the fire, About heaven, and when they shall And then a boy, stopping to think. Will find a hot tear in his eye, To know what must come at the last, For grandmothers all have to die. I wish they could stay here and pray. For a boy needs their prayers ev'ry night — Some boys more than others, I s'pose ; Such fellers as me need a sight, Ethel Lynx Beers. 72 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. GOLDEN HAIR. Golden Hair climbed upon grand- papa's knee. Dear little Golden Hair ! tired Avas she, All the day busy as busy could be. Up in the morning as soon as 'twas light, Out with the birds and the butterflies bright. ►Skipping about till the coming of night. Grandpapa toyed with the curls on her head ; '" What has my baby been doing," he said, " Since she arose, with the sun, from her bed ?" " Pity much," answered the sweet lit- tle one ; " I cannot tell so much things I have done — • Played with my dolly, and feeded my Bun. " And I have jumped with my little jump-rope, And I made, out of some water and soap, Bufitle worlds ! mamma's castles of Hope. " And I have readed in my picture- book, And little Bella and I went to look For some smooth stones by the side of the brook. " Then I come home, and I eated my tea, And I climbed up to my grandpapa's knee. I'm jes' as tired as tired can be." Lower and lower the little head pressed Until it drooped upon grandpapa's breast ; Dear little Golden Hair ! sweet be thy rest ! PLAY-DAYS. 73 We are but children ; the things that Then, stepping softly, she fetched the we do • broom Are as sports of a babe to the Infinite And swept the floor and tidied the view, room ; That sees all our weakness, and pities Busy and happy all day was she, it too. Helpful and happy as child could be. God grant that when night over- shadows our way, " I love you, mother," again they And we shall be called to account for said, our day, Three little children going to bed. He may find it as guileless as Golden How do you think that mother guess- Hair's play ! ed Which of them realty loved her best ? Joy Allison. And oh ! when aweary, may we be so blest As to sink, like an innocent child, to our rest, GRANDPAPA'S SPECTACLES. And feel ourselves clasped to the Infin- : Graxdpapa > s spec tacles cannot be found; He has searched all the rooms, high and low, round and round ; Now he calls to the young ones, and what does he say ? " Ten cents for the child who will find them to-day." F. Bl'RGE S.MrTH. WHICH LOVED BEST? " I love you, mother," said little John ; Then, forgetting his work, his cap went on, And he was off to the garden-swing, And left her the water and wood to bring. Then Henry and Nelly and Edward all ran, And a most thorough hunt for the glasses began, I love you, mother," said rosy Nell— j And dear little Nell, in her generous way, Said, " I'll look for them, grandpa, without any pay." '• I love you better than tongue can tell ;" Then she teased and pouted full half t n p H *i v , r -,i , ' .-i ••11 i All through the bis; Bible she searches till her mother rejoiced when she • & & , , i with care went to play. ! , That lies on the table by grandpapa's " I love you, mother," said little Fan ; | chair ; " To-day I'll help you all I can ; They feel in his pockets, they peep in How glad I am school does'nt keep !" ! his hat, So she rocked the babe till it fell I They pull out the sofa, they shake asleep. out the mat. 74 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. Then down on all-fours, like two good- natured bears, Go Harry and Ned under tables and chairs, Till, quite out of breath, Ned is heard to declare He believes that those glasses are not anywhere. • But Nelly, who, leaning on grandpapa's knee, Was thinking most earnestly Avhere they could be, Looked suddenly up in the kind, faded eyes, And her own shining brown ones grew big with surprise. She clapped both her hands — all her dimples came out, — She turned to the boys with a bright, roguish shout : " You may leave off your looking, both Harry and Ned, For there are the glasses on grand- papa's head!" Elizabeth Sill. TRUE " How much I love you, mother dear !" A little prattler said : " I love you in the morning bright, And when I go to bed. " I love you when I'm near to you, And when I'm far away ; I love you when I am at work, And when I am at play." And then she shyly, sweetly raised Her lovely eyes of blue : LOVE. " I love you when you love me best, And when you scold me, too." The mother kissed her darling child, And stooped a tear to hide : " My precious one, I love you most When I am forced to chide." " I could not let my darling child In sin and folly go, And this is why I sometimes chide, Because I love you so." PLAY-DAYS. 75 A PICTURE. The former sat in his easy-chair Smoking his pipe of clay, While his hale old wife, with busy care, Was clearing the dinner away ; A sweet little girl with fine blue eyes On her grandfather's knee was catch- ing flies. The old man laid his hand on her head, With a tear on his wrinkled face ; He thought how often her mother dead Had sat in the selfsame place. As the tear stole down from his half- shut eye, " Don't smoke !" said the child ; " how it makes you cry !" The house-dog lay stretched out on the floor, "Where the shade after noon used to steal ; The busy old wife, by the open door, Was turning the spinning-wheel ; And the old brass clock on the mantel- tree Had plodded along to almost three. Still the farmer sat in his easy-chair, While close to his heaving breast The moistened brow and the cheek so fair Of his sweet grandchild were pressed ; His head, bent down, on her soft hair lay: Fast asleep were they both that sum- mer day ! Charles G. Eastman. WE ARE SEVEN. A simple child, That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death ? I met a little cottage-girl : She was eight years old, she said ; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head. She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad ; Her eyes were fair, and very fair ; Her beauty made me glad. " Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may } r ou be ?" " How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me. "And where are they? I pray you tell." She answered, " Seven are we ; And two of us at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea. " Two of us in the churchyard lie, My sister and my brother, And in the churchyard cottage I Dwell near them with my -mother." " You say that two at Conway dwell. And two are gone to sea, Yet ye are seven ! I pray you tell, Sweet maid, how this may be ?" Then did the little maid reply : " Seven boys and girls are we ; Two of us in the churchyard lie. Beneath the churchyard tree." '6 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. " You run about, my little maid, Your limbs they are alive ; If two are in the churchyard laid, Then ye are only five." L " Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little maid replied, "' Twelve steps or more from my moth- er's door, And they are side by side. " My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem, And there upon the ground I sit— I sit and sing to them. "And often after sunset, sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there. " The first that died was little Jane ; Tn bed she moaning lay, Till God released her of her pain, And then she went away. , " So in the churchyard she was laid, And when the grass was dry Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I. "And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, And he lies by her side." * : How many are you, then," said I, ''If they two are in heaven?" The little maiden did reply, " Oh, master, we are seven." " But they are dead — those two are dead, Their spirits are in heaven." 'Twas throwing words away, for still The little maid would have her will, And said, " Nay, we are seven." William Woudswobth. SEVEN TIMES ONE. EXULTATION. There's no dew left on the daisies and clover, There's no rain left in heaven : I've said my " seven times " over and over ; Seven times one are seven. I am old, so old, I can write a letter ; My birthday lessons are done ; The lambs play always, they know no better ; They are only one times one. moon ! in the night I have seen you sailing And shining so round and low ; You were bright ! ah bright ! but your light is failing, — You are nothing now but a bow. You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven, That God has hidden your face ? 1 hope if you have you will soon be forgiven, And shine again in your place. velvet bee, you're a dusty fellow, You've powder'd your legs with gold ! brave marshmary buds, rich and yellow, Give me your money to hold ! PLAY-DAYS. 77 columbine, open your folded wrap- Well — tell ! Where should I fly to, per, Where two twin turtle-doves dwell ! euckoopint, toll me the purple clapper That hangs in your clear green bell ! And show me your nest with the young ones in it ; I will not steal them awa}- ; I am old ! you may trust me, linnet, linnet, — I am seven times one to-day Jean Lxuelow. WISHING. Ring-ting ! I wish I were a Prim- rose, A bright yellow Primrose, blowing in the spring ! The stooping boughs above me, The wandering bee to love me. The fern and moss to creep across. And the Elm tree for our king ! Nay — stay ! I wish I were an Elm tree, A great, lofty Elm tree, with green leaves gay ! The winds would set them dancing, Tb.e sun and moonshine glance in, The birds would house among the boughs, I And sweetly sing. Oh no ! I wish I were a Robin, A Robin or a little Wren, everywhere to go ; Through forest, field, or garden. And ask no leave or pardon, Till winter comes with icy thumbs To ruffle up our wing ! Where go to sleep in the dark wood or dell ? Before a day was over, Home comes the rover, For mother's kiss — sweeter this Than any other thing. William Allinoham. CASTLES IN THE AIR. The bonnie, bonnie bairn, who sits poking in the ase, Glowering in the fire with his wee round face ; Laughing at the fuffin* lowe. what sees he there ? Ha ! the young dreamer's bigging cas- tles in the air. His wee chubby face and his touzie curly pow Are laughing and nodding to the" dan- cing lowe ; 78 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. He'll brown his rosy cheeks, and singe his sunny hair, Glowering at the imps with their cas- tles in the air. He sees muckle castles towering to the moon ! He sees little sogers pu'ing them a' doun ! Worlds whombling up and down, bleezing wi' a flare, See how he loups as they glimmer in .the air. For a' sae sage he looks, what can the laddie ken ? He's thinking upon naething, like mony mighty men, A wee thing maks us think, a sma' thing maks us stare ; There are mair folk than him bigging castles in the air. Sic a night in winter may weel mak him cauld ; His chin upon his buffy hand will soon mak him auld ; His brow is brent sae braid, oh, pray that daddy Care Would let the wean alane wi' his cas- tles in the air. He'll glower at the fire ! and he'll keek at the light ! But mony sparkling stars are swal- lowed up by night; Aulder e'en than his are glamoured by a glare, Hearts are broken, heads are turned, wi' castles in the air. James Ballantyne. A LITTLE STORY. Oh, the book is a beauty, my darling. The pictures are all very fine, But it's time you were soundly sleep- in o - For the little hand points to nine ; So, here's a good-night — but give me A dozen of kisses or more, To make me forget what vexed me To-day in the dull old store. Can't go till I tell you a story ? Well, a long, long time ago, When I was a little wee fellow — No bigger than you, you know — When I hadn't a nurse as you have. And my papa was gone for goods, I ran away from my mamma, And got lost in the big pine woods. I'll tell you just how it happened : I was hunting for eggs, you see, And all over the house and the garden My mamma was hunting for me ; Hunting and calling, "Oh, Willie ! Ho ! Willie ! where are you, my son ?" And I heard her and hid in the bushes, And thought it the jolliest of fun. Naughty ? Ah ! Robin ! I know it. But I didn't think of it then ; I laughed and said, " I'm a robber, And this is my dear little den. I'd like to see any one take me. I reckon— Oh ho ! what's that ?" And away I went after a squirrel As round and as black as my hat. No; I didn't forget 1113^ dear mamma. But " boys will be boys," I said ; PLAY-DAYS. 79 And I kept a good eye on squirrel, And followed wherever he led, Over briers, and bogs, and bushes, Till, the night fell blackly about, And I found I was far in the forest, And didn't know how to get out. What became of the squirrel? why, Robin ! To be thinking of him, and not me ! "When I hadn't a thing for my pillow That night, but the root of a tree— With a bit of soft moss for its cover — And never a star overhead ; Oh, oh, how I cried for my mother, Till I slept, and dreamed I was dead. I awoke in my own little chamber.; My papa was holding my hand, And my mamma was crying beside me; I couldn't at first understand Just what it all meant — when they told me I wasn't to stir or to speak, For I was half dead when they found me, And had been very sick for a week. But I pretty soon thought of the squirrel. And the bushes and briers ; and then — " Oh, mamma, forgive me," I whis- pered, " For hiding away in a den !"' li Hush, hush ! my poor darling !" she answered ; And I turned my face to the wall, Crying softly, because I was sorry. Now kiss me good-night. That is all. Hester A. Benedict. LET DOGS DELIGHT TO BARK AND BITE. Let dogs delight to bark and bite. For God hath made them so ; Let bears and lions growl and fight, For 'tis their nature too ; But, children, you should never let Such angry passions rise ; Your little hands were never made To tear each other's eyes. Let love through all your actions run. And all your words be mild ; Live like the blessed Virgin's Son. That sweet and lovely Child. His soul was gentle as a lamb ; And, as his stature grew, He grew in favor both with man And God his Father too. 80 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. Now, Lord of all, he reigns above, And from his heavenly throne He sees what children dwell in love, And marks them for his own. Isaac Watts. GOING INTO BREECHES. Joy to Philip ! he this day Has his long coats' cast away, And (the childish season gone) Puts the manly breeches on. Officer on gay parade, Eed-coat in his first cockade, Bridegroom in his wedding trim, Birthday beau surpassing him, Never did with conscious gait Strut about in half the state, Or the pride (yet free from sin), Of my little manikin : Never was there pride, or bliss, Half so rational as his. Sashes, frocks, to those that need 'em- Philip's limbs have got their freedom. He can run, or he can ride, And do twenty things beside, Which his petticoats forbade ; Is he not a happy lad ? Now he's under other banners, He must leave his former manners, Bid adieu to female games. And forget their very names — Puss-in-corners, hide-and-seek, Sports for girls and punies weak \ Baste-the-bear he now may play at ; Leap-frog, foot-ball sport away at ; Show his strength and skill at cricket, Mark his distance, pitch his wicket ; Run about in winter's snow Till his cheeks and fingers glow ; Climb a tree, or scale a wall, Without any fear to fall. If he get a hurt or bruise, To complain he must refuse, Though the anguish and the smart Go unto his little heart. He must have his courage ready, Keep his voice and visage steady, Brace his eyeballs stiff as drum, That a tear may never come ; And his grief must only speak From the color in his cheek. This and more he must endure — Hero he in miniature ! This and more must now be done, Now the breeches are put on. Mary Lamb. THE PIPER. Piping down the valleys wild. Piping songs of pleasant glee, On a cloud I saw a child, And he laughing said to me : " Pipe a song about a lamb !" So I piped with merry cheer. " Piper, pipe that song again ;" So I piped ; he wept to hear. " Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe ; Sing thy songs of happy cheer !" So I sang the same again, While he wept with joy to hear. " Piper, sit thee down and write In a book, that all may read." So he vanished from my sight ; And I plucked a hollow reed, And I made a rural pen, And I stained the Avater clear, And I wrote my happy songs Every child may joy to hear. William Blake. LESSO'NS OF LIFE. Lessons of Life. A GOOD NAME. Children, choose it, Don't refuse it ; 'Tis a precious diadem ; Highly prize it, Don't despise it ; You will need it when you're men. Love and cherish, Keep and nourish ; 'Tis more precious far than gold ; Watch and guard it, Don't discard it ; You will need it when you're old. FIVE THINGS. If Wisdom's ways you wisely seek, Five things observe with care : To whom you speak, of whom }-ou speak, And how, and when, and where. TRUTH. Boy, at all times tell the truth, Let no lie defile thy mouth ; If thou'rt wrong, be still the same — Speak the truth and bear the blame. Truth is honest, truth is sure ; Truth is strong, and must endure ; Falsehood lasts a single day, Then it vanishes away. Boy, at all times tell the truth, Let no lie defile thy mouth ; Truth is steadfast, sure, and fast — Certain to prevail at last. THE NINE PARTS OF SPEECH. Three little words we often see — An Article, a, an, and the. A Noun's the name of anything, As, school or garden, hoop or swing. Adjectives tell the kind of noun. As, great, small, pretty, white, or brown. Instead of nouns the Pronouns stand — John's head, his face, my arm, your hand. Verbs tell of something being done — To read, ivrite, count, sing, jump, 01 run. How things are done the Adverbs tell, As, sloicly, quickly, ill, or well. A Preposition stands before A noun, as, in or through a door. Conjunctions join the nouns together. As, men and children, wind or weather. The Interjection shows surprise, As, Oh, how pretty ! Ah, how wise ! J. Xeale. 83 84 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. Two ears and only one mouth have you ; The reason, I think, is clear : It teaches, my child, that it will not do To talk about all you hear. Two eyes and only one mouth have you ; The reason of this must be, That you should learn that it will not do To talk about all you see. Two hands and only one mouth have you, And it is worth while repeating : The two are for work you will have to do — The one is enough for eating. A GOOD RULE. 'Tis well to walk with a cheerful heart Wherever our fortunes call, With a friendly glance and an open hand , And a gentle word for all. ^/ Since life is a thorny and difficult path, Where toil is the portion of man, We all should endeavor, while passing along, To make it as smooth as we can. LESSONS OF LLFE. 85 TRY, TRY AGAIN. Here's a lesson all should heed — Try, try, try again. If at first you don't succeed, Try, try, try again. Let your courage well appear ; If you only persevere You will conquer, never fear ; Try, try, try again. Twice or thrice though you should fail. Try again. If at last you would prevail. Try again. When you strive, there's no disgrace Though you fail to win the race ; Bravely, then, in such a case, Try, try, try again. Let the thing be e'er so hard. Try again. Time will surely bring reward ; Trv a sain. That which other folks can do Why, with patience, may not you ? Why, with 'patience, may not you? Trv, try, try again. THE POWER OF LITTLES. Great events, we often find, On little things depend, And very small beginnings Have oft a mighty end. Letters joined make words. And words to books may grow. As flake on flake descending Forms an avalanche of snow. A single utterance may good Or evil thought inspire ; One little spark enkindled May set a town on fire. What volumes may be written With little drops of ink ! 86 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. How small a leak, unnoticed, A mighty ship will sink ! A tiny insect's labor Makes the coral strand, And mighty seas are girdled With grains of golden sand. A daily penny, saved, A fortune may begin ; A daily penny, squandered, May lead to vice and sin. Our life is made entirely Of moments multiplied, As little streamlets, joining, Form the ocean's tide. Our hours and days, our months and years, Are in small moments given : They constitute our time below — Eternity in heaven. LITTLE THINGS. Little drops of water, Little grains of sand, Make the mighty ocean And the pleasant land. Thus the little minutes, Humble though they be, Make the mighty ages Of eternity. So our little errors Lead the soul away From the path of virtue, Oft in sin to stray. Little deeds of kindness, Little words of love, Make our earth an Eden, Like the heaven above. Brewek. LITTLE BY LITTLE. While the new years come and the old years go, How, little by little, all things grow ! All things grow, and all decay — Little by little passing away. Little by little, on fertile plain, Ripen the harvests of golden grain, Waving and flashing in the sun When the summer at last is done. Low on the ground an acorn lies — Little by little it mounts the skies, Shadow and shelter for wandering herds, Home for a hundred singing birds. Little by little the great rocks grew Long, long ago, when the world was new; Slowly and silently, stately and free. Cities of coral under the sea Little by little are builded, while so The new years come and the old years go. Little by little all tasks are done ; So are the crowns of the faithful won, So is heaven in our hearts begun. With work and with weeping, with laughter and play, Little by little, the longest day And the longest life are passing away — Passing without return, while so The new years come and the old years go. Luella Clark. BE POLITE. Good boys and girls should never say "I will? and, " Give me these:" Oh no ; that never is the way, But, " Mother, if you please." LESSONS OF LIFE. And "If you please" to sister Ann, Good boys to say are ready ; And " Yes, sir" to a gentleman, And " Yes, ma'am" to a lady. Why did you loiter so long by the way ? All of the classes are formed for the day ; Hurry and pick up definer and slate — Room at the foot for the scholar that's late. THE MINUTES. We are but minutes — little things, Each one furnished with sixty wings, Five minutes latej and the table is With which we fly on our unseen spread t rac k, The children are seated, and grace has And not a minute ever comes back. been said ■ Even the baby, all sparkling and We are but minutes — yet each one rosy bears Sits in her high chair, by mamma, so A little burden of joys and cares. cozv ! Patiently take the minutes of pain— Five minutes late, and your hair all The worst of minutes cannot remain. askew Just as the comb was drawn hastilv We are but minutes — when we bring through A few of the drops from pleasure's There are your chair and your tumbler ?prmg, and plate- Taste their sweetness while we star — Cold cheer for those who are five min- It takes but a minute to fly away. utes late. We are but minutes-use us well, Fiye minutes late on this brignt Sab . For how we are used we must one day bath morn ! All the good people to meeting have tell: Who uses minutes has hours to use- Who loses minutes whole vears must ^r i .n i \ oll canno t near the sweet gospel lose. gone ; ONLY FIVE MINUTES. message, As your boots noisily creak in the pas sage. -r, , , t xi i t • People and minister look at vour h ive minutes late, and the school is r begun ; What are rules for, if you break everv one t pew. Little surprised when they see it is you. Tll ," "Vi I, , j -, Ah! when you stand at the Beautiful •Just as the scholars are seated and „ . . Gate, quiet, „„ .,' . v„„ u, • -o.i t . i i >> hat will vou do if vou re five mm- lou hurry in with disturbance and , f „ • , utes late ? riot - Mrs. M. L. Rayxe. 88 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. DEEDS OF KINDNESS. Suppose the little cowslip Should hang its little cup And say, " I'm such a tiny flower. I'd better not grow up." How many a w r eary traveller Would miss its fragrant smell ! How many a little child would grieve To lose it from the dell ! Suppose the glistening dewdrops Upon the grass should say, " "What can a little dewdrop do? I'd better roll away." The blade on which it rested. Before the day was done, Without a drop to moisten it. Would wither in the sun. Suppose the little breezes. Upon a summer's day, Should think themselves too small to cool The traveller on his way ; Who would not miss the smallest And softest ones that blow, And think they made a great mis- take If they were talking so ? How many deeds of kindness A little child may do, Although it has so little strength, And little wisdom too ! It needs a loving spirit, Much more than strength, to prove, How many things a child may do For others by its love. ONE THING AT A TIME. Work while you work, Play while you play ; That is the way To be cheerful and gay. All that you do, Do with your might ; Things done by halves Are never done right. LESSONS OF LIFE. 89 One thing each time, And that done well, Is a very good rule, As many can tell. Moments are useless Trifled away ; So work while you work, And play while you play. M. A. Stodart. LITTLE MARIAN'S PILGRIMAGE. In a large house, with two kind aunts, The little Marian dwelt, And a happy child she was. I ween, For though at times she felt That playmates would be better far Than either birds or flowers, Yet with kind aunts and story-books She passed few T lonely hours. Her favorite haunt in summer-time Was a large old apple tree, And oft amid its boughs she sat, With her pet book on her knee. The " Pilgrim's Progress " it was called, And Marian loved it much ; It is indeed a wondrous book : There are not many such. She read it in her little bed, And by the winter fire, And in the large old apple tree, As if she ne'er would tire. But, unexplained, 'tis just the book To puzzle a young brain, And this poor child had no kind friend Its meaning to explain. Fur though her aunts were very kind, They were not very wise ; They only said, " Don't read so, child. For sure you'll hurt your eyes." But Marian still went reading on ; And visions strange and wild Began to fill the little head Of the lonely, dreaming child. For she thought that Christian and his wife, And all his children too, Had left behind their pleasant home ; And so she too must do. " I'll take my Bible," said the child, " And seek the road to heaven ; I'll try to find the wicket-gate, And have my sins forgiven. " I wish m} r aunts would go with me, But 'tis in vain to ask ; They are so old and deaf and lame, They'd think it quite a task. " No ! I must go alone, I see ; And I'll not let them know, Or, like poor Christian's friends, they 11 say, ' My dear, you must not go.' " But I must wait till some great thing- Shall all their thoughts engage, And then I'll leave my pleasant home. And go on pilgrimage." She had not waited long before, One fine, autumnal day, She saw the large old coach arrive To take her aunts away. " We're going out to spend the day," The two old ladies said ; " We mean to visit Mrs. Blair : She's verv sick in bed. 90 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. " But, Marian, you must stay at home, I And happy you will be, To have your book and dinner too In the large old apple tree. " And in the garden you may play While you can be content." A few more parting words were said, And off the aunties went. The servants, too, were now engaged. " The da}' is come at last," Said Marian ; " but oh ! how I wish My pilgrimage were past !" Kneeling beneath her apple tree, For God's kind help she prayed ; Then, with her basket in her hand, Went forth the little maid. Behind the house where Marian dwelt, At a^long, long distance, lay A high, steep hill, which morning suns Tinged with their earliest ray. That " Difficulty " was its name The child had often thought, And toward that hill she turned her head, With hopeful visions fraught All Nature seemed to welcome her In that bright autumnal morn ; The joyous lark sang merrily Above the waving corn. " Ah! little lark, you sing," she said, " On your early pilgrimage ; I too will sing, for pleasant thoughts Shall now my mind engage." In sweet, clear strains she sang a hymn, Then tripped along her way, Till to a miry pool she came Through which her pathway lay. " This is the ' Slough Despond,' " she cried ; And, bravely venturing through, She safely reached the other side, Leaving behind a shoe. On a moss-clad stone she sat her down And ate some fruit and bread ; Then took her little Bible out, And a cheering Psalm she read. Now with fresh hope she wandered on For many miles away, And reached the bottom of the hill Before the close of day. She clambered up the steep ascent, Though faint and weary too, But firmly did our Marian keep Her purpose still in view. " I'm glad to find the Arbor's gone," Said the little tired soul ; " I'm sure I should have laid me down, And, maybe, lost my roll." On the high hill-top she stands at last, And our weary pilgrim sees A porter's lodge of ample size, Half hid by sheltering trees. She clapped her hands with joy, and cried, " Oh ! there's the ' Wicket-Gate !' And I must seek admittance now, Before it is too late." LESSONS OF LIFE. 91 Gently she knocks: 'tis answered soon, And at the open door Stands a tall man. Poor Marian felt As she never felt before. With tearful eyes and trembling heart, Flushed cheek and anxious brow, She said, " I hope you're Watchful, sir ; I want Discretion now." " Oh yes, I'm watchful," said the man, " As a porter ought to be ; I fear you've lost your way, young miss ; You've lost your shoe, I see." " Mistress," cried he to his wife with- in, " Here's a queer child at our door; You'll never see the like again, If you live to be fourscore. " She wants discretion, as she says ; And indeed I think 'tis so, Though I know of some who want it more, And seek it less, I trow." " Go to the Hall," his wife replied, " And take the child with you ; The ladies there are all so wise, They'll soon know what to do." The man complied, and led the child Through many a flowery glade. '" Is that the Palace Beautiful f The little wanderer said. "There, to the left, among the trees? Why, miss, 'tis very grand ; Call it a palace, if you please ; 'Tis the finest in the land. " But here we are at the grand old porch And the famous marble hall ; Here, little lady, you must wait, While I the servants call." With heavy heart he left the child. But quickly reappeared. And with him came a lady too, And Marian's heart was cheered. " My little girl," the lady said, In accents soft and kind, " I'm sure you need your limbs to rest, And rest you soon shall find." To a room where three young ladies sat The child was quickly led ; '' Piety, Prudence, Charity" To herself she softly said. " What is your name, my little dear?" Said the eldest of the three, Whom Marian, in her secret thought. Had marked for Piety. " We'll send a servant to your friends, And tell them you are here ; Your absence from your happy home Will fill their hearts with fear." Around her bright and lovely face Fell waves of auburn hair, And modestly she told her name. With whom she lived, and where. " How did vou lose your way. my love?" She gently raised her head, " I do not think I've lost my way," The little Pilgrim said. 92 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. '- This is the Palace Beautiful ; May I stay here to-night?" They smiled and said, " We're glad our home Is pleasant in your sight. " Yes, gladly we will lodge you here, For many nights to come." " Thank you," she said, " but I must soon Go toward my heavenly home. " The Valley of the Shade of Death Is near your house, I know." Surprised, she saw her artless words Had caused their tears to flow. " And I will see your Armory, When you have time to spare; I hope you have some small enough For a little girl to wear." No more she said, for Piety (As Marian called her) threw Her arms around the Pilgrim's neck, Whose secret now she knew. " Your words and ways were strange,"' said she, " But now 'tis plain you've read That wondrous book, which, unex- plained, Has turned your little head. She knew not that her friends A little while before Had buried one they dearly loved, But could love, on earth, no more. new-found " How dearly, when a little child, I loved that Pilgrim's tale ! But then 'twas all explained to me ; And if we can prevail Their brother had been called away In the unseen world to dwell, But why her words should grief ex- cite Poor Marian could not tell. Sobs only for a while were heard ; At length the mother said, " My child, your words reminded us Of our loved and early dead. '• But this you could not know, my dear ; And it indeed is true — We all are near to death's dark door — Even little girls like you." " On your kind aunts to let you stay Some time with us, my dear, We'll talk about that precious book, And try to make it clear." And now we'll turn to Marian's home, And see what's passing there. The servants all had company, And a merry group they were. They had not miss'd our Pilgrim long, For they knew she oft would play In that old garden with a book The livelong summer day. " Yes," said the timid, trembling child, At last said one, with wondering eyes, " I know it must be so ; " Where can Miss Marian be? But, ma'am, I hope that Piety Dinner was in her basket packed, May be with me when I go. But sure she'll come to tea." LESSONS OF LIFE. yy They sought her here, they sought her there, But could not find the child ; And her old aunts, when they came home, With grief were nearly wild. The servants, and the neighbors too, In different ways were sent, But none thought of the narroio way By which our Pilgrim went. " Perhaps she followed us to town," One of her aunts then said ; " I wish we had not left our home ; I fear the child is dead." So to the town some one was sent, For they knew not what to do ; And night came on, when a country boy Brought Marian's little shoe. Taking the shoe, the housekeeper Into the parlor ran : " Oh, mistress, this is all that's left Of poor Miss Marian ! " Twas found in that deep miry slough Just above Harlan's Chase — Poor child ! I fear she's smothered there, For 'tis a frightful place." Then louder grew the general grief; But soon their hearts were cheered, For a footman now with note in hand From the distant Hall appeared. One aunt then read the note, and cried, " Oh, sister, all is well — The child is safe at Brooklawn Hall, With Lady Arundel. " She wants to keep her for a month, And sure I think she may ; A friend like Lady Arundel Is not found every day. " Our compliments and thanks to her When you return, young man ; We'll call io- morrow at the Hall, And see Miss Marian." Then came a burst of grateful joy, Which could not be suppressed ; With thankful hearts and many tears They went that night to rest. Oh, that happy month at Brooklawn Hall! How soon it passed away ! Faithful and kind were Marian's friends, And well she loved to stay. With earnest diligence and prayer They daily sought to bring The little lamb to that safe fold Where dwells the Shepherd King. Yes, many a lesson, ne'er forgot, The little Marian learned ; A thoughtful and a happy child She to her home returned. Years rolled away. The scene is changed ; A wife and mother now, Marian has found the Wicket-gate — Herself and children too. And oh ! how pleasant 'tis to see This little Pilgrim band, As on, toward their heavenly home, They travel hand in hand. When cloudy days fall to their lot, They see a light afar — 94 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY The light that shone on Bethlehem's plain, The Pilgrim's guiding star. And now, dear reader, ponder well This tale — though strange, yet true — And let our Pilgrim's history Its lesson read to you. If to your young and trustful hearts The grace of God is given, Be earnest, as our Marian was, To seek the road to heaven. SONG OF LIFE. A traveller on a dusty road Strewed acorns on the lea ; And one took root and sprouted up, And grew into a tree. Love sought its shade at evening-time, To breathe its early vows ; And Age was pleased, in heights of noon, To bask beneath its boughs. The dormouse loved its dangling twigs, The birds sweet music bore — It stood a glory in its place, A blessing evermore. A little spring had lost its way Amid the grass and fern ; A passing stranger scooped a well Where weary men might turn. He walled it in, and hung with care A ladle on the brink ; He thought not of the deed he did, But judged that toil might drink. He passed again ; and lo ! the well, By summer never dried, Had cooled ten thousand parched tongues, And saved a life beside. A nameless man, amid the crowd, That thronged the daily mart, Let fall a word of hope and love, Unstudied, from the heart. A whisper on the tumult thrown, A transitory breath, It raised a brother from the dust, It saved a soul from death. germ ! fount ! word of love ! thought at random cast! Ye were but little at the first, But mighty at the last. LOVE ONE ANOTHER. Children, do you love each other ? Are you always kind and true ? Do you always do to others As you'd have them do to you ? Are you gentle to each other ? Are you careful, day by day, Not to give offence by actions Or by anything you say ? Little children, love each other, Never give another pain ; If your brother speak in anger, Answer not in wrath again. Be not selfish to each other — Never mar another's rest ; Strive to make each other happy, And you will yourselves be blest. LESSONS OF LIFE. 95 LITTLE CHRISTEL. i. Slowly forth from the village church,— The voice of the choristers hushed overhead, — - Came little Christel. She paused in the porch, Pondering what the preacher had said. " Even the youngest, humblest child Something may do to please the Lord." " Now what," thought she, and half sadly smiled, " Can I, so little and poor, afford ? " Never, never a day should pass Without some kindness kindly shown. The preacher said." Then down to the grass A skylark dropped, like a brown- winged stone. " Well, a day is before me now, Yet what," thought she, " can I do if I try ? If an angel of God would show me how ! But silly am I, and the hours they fly." Then the lark sprang singing up from the sod, And the maiden thought, as he rose to the blue, " He says he will carry my prayer to God, But who would have thought the little lark knew ?" 96 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. ii. Now she entered the village street With book in hand and face demure ; And soon she came, with sober feet, To a crying babe at a cottage-door. It wept at a windmill that would not move : It puffed with its round, red cheeks in vain ; One sail stuck fast in a puzzling groove, And Baby's breath could not stir it again. So Baby beat the sail; and cried, While no one came from the cottage- door ; But little Christel knelt down by its side And set the windmill going once more. Then Babe was pleased, and the little girl Was glad when she heard it laugh and crow, Thinking, " Happy windmill, that has but to whirl To please the pretty young creature so!" in. No thought of herself was in her head As she passed out at the end of the street, And came to a rose tree tall and red, Drooping and faint with the sum- mer heat. She ran to a brook that was flowing b y, She made of her two hands a nice round cup, And washed the roots of the rose tree high, Till it lifted its languid blossoms up. " happy brook !" thought little Chris- tel, " You have done some good this summer's day : You have made the flowers look fresh and well!" Then she rose and went on her way. IV. But she saw, as she walked by the side of the brook, Some great rough stones that trou- bled its course, And the gurgling water seemed to say, " Look ! I struggle, and tumble, and murmur hoarse ! " How these stones obstruct my road ! How I wish they were off and gone ! Then I would flow as once I flowed. Singing in silvery undertone." Then little Christel, as light as a bird, Put off the shoes from her young Avhite feet ; She moves two stones, she comes to the third ; The brook already sings, " Thanks ! sweet! sweet!" Oh! then she hears the lark in the skies, And thinks, " What is it to God he says ?" And she stumbles and falls, and can- not rise, For the water stifles her downward face. LESSONS OF LIFE. 97 The little brook flows on as before, The little lark sings with as sweet a sound, The little babe crows at the cottage- door, And the red rose blooms, — butChris- tel lies drowned. Come in softly ! this is the room : Is not that an innocent face? Yes, those flowers give a faint per- fume : Think, child, of heaven, and Our Lord his grace. Three at the right, and three at the left, Two at the feet, and two at the head, The tapers burn. The friends bereft Have cried till their eyes are swollen and red. Who would have thought it when lit- tle Christel Pondered on what the preacher had told ? But the good wise God does all things well, And the fair young creature lies dead and cold. VI. Then a little stream crept into the place, And rippled up to the coffin's side, And touched the corpse on its pale round face, And kissed the eyes till they trem- bled wide ; 7 Saying, " I am a river of joy from heaven ; You helped the brook, and I help you: I sprinkle your brow with life-drops seven, I bathe your eyes with healing dew." Then a rose-branch in through the window came, And colored her cheeks and lips with red : " I remember, and Heaven does the same," Was all that the faithful rose-branch said. Then a bright, small form to her cold neck clung, It breathed on her till her breast did fill, Saying, " I am a cherub, fond and young, And I saw who breathed on the baby's mill." Then little Christel sat up and smiled, And said, " Who put these flowers in my hand ?" And rubbed her eyes, poor innocent child, Not being able to understand. VII. But soon she heard the big bell of the church Give the hour, which made her say, " Ah, I have slept and dreamed in the porch : It is a very drowsy day." "LlLLIPUT LEVE£.' r 98 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY JEANNETTE AND JO. Two girls I know — Jeannette and Jo, And one is always moping ; The other lassie, come what may, Is ever bravely hoping. Beauty of face and girlish grace Are theirs, for joy or sorrow ; Jeannette takes brightly every day, And Jo dreads each to-morrow. One early morn they watched the dawn — I saw them stand together ; Their whole day's sport, 'twas very plain, Depended on the weather. " 'Twill storm !" cried Jo. Jeannette spoke low, " Yes, but 'twill soon be over." And, as she spoke, the sudden shower Came beating down the clover. " I told you so ! " cried angry Jo ; " It always is a-raining ! " Then hid her face in dire despair, Lamenting and complaining. But sweet Jeannette, quite hopeful yet — I tell it to her honor — Looked up and waited till the sun Came streaming in upon her ; The broken clouds sailed off in crowds Across a sea of glory. Jeannette and Jo ran, laughing, in — Which ends my simple story. Joy is divine. Come storm, come shine, The hopeful are the gladdest ; And doubt and dread, dear girls, be- lieve, Of all things are the saddest. In morning's light let youth be bright, Take in the sunshine tender ; Then, at the close, shall life's decline Be full of sunset splendor. And ye who fret, try, like Jeannette, To shun all weak complaining ; And not, like Jo, cry out too soon, " It always is a-raining !" Mary Mapes Dodge. LEARN YOUR LESSON. You'll not learn your lesson by cry- ing, my man, You'll never come at it by crying, my man ; Not a word can you spy For the tear in your eye ; Then set your heart to it, for surely you can. If you like your lesson, it's sure to like you, The words then so glibly would jump into view ; Each one to its place All the others would chase, Till the laddie would wonder how clever he grew. You'll cry till you make yourself stupid and blind. And then not a word can you keep in your mind ; But cheer up your heart, And you'll soon have your part, For all things grow easy when bairns are inclined. Alexander Smart. LESSONS OF LIFE. 99 SUNSHINE AND SHOWERS. Two children stood at their father's gate, Two girls with golden hair, And their eyes were bright, and their voices glad, Because the morn was fair ; For they said, " We will take that long, long walk To the hawthorn copse to-day, And gather great bunches of lovely flowers From off the scented may ; And oh ! we shall be so happy there 'Twill be sorrow to come away !" As the children spoke a little cloud Passed slowly across the sky, And one looked up in her sister's face With a tear-drop in her eye. But the other said, " Oh ! heed it not, 'Tis far too fair to rain : That little cloud may search the sky For other clouds in vain." And soon the children's voices rose In merriment again. But ere the morning hours waned The sky had changed its hue, And that one cloud had chased away The whole great heaven of blue. The rain fell down in heavy drops, The wind began to blow, And the children, in their nice, warm room, Went fretting to and fro ; For they said, " When we have aught in store It always happens so !" Now these two fair-haired sisters Had a brother out at sea, A little midshipman, aboard The gallant "Victory;" And on that selfsame morning When they stood beside the gate 100 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. His ship was wrecked, and on a raft He stood all desolate, With the other sailors round him, Prepared to meet their fate. Beyond, they saw the cool, green land, The land with her waving trees, And her little brooks, that rise and fall Like butterflies to the breeze. But above them the burning noontide sun With scorching stillness shone ; Their throats were parched with bitter thirst, And they knelt down one by one, And prayed to God for a drop of rain, And a gale to waft them on. And then that little cloud was sent, That shower in mercy given, And as a bird before the breeze Their bark was landward driven. And some few mornings after, When the children met once more, And their brother told the story, They knew it was the hour When they had wished for sunshine And God had sent the shower 1 WHAT MAKES ME HAPPIEST? What is it makes me happiest? Is it my last new play ? Is it pussy, ball, or hoop? Can you, dear mamma, say? Is it my puzzles or my blocks, My pleasant solitaire, My dolls, my kittens, or my books, Or flowers fresh and fair? What is it makes me happiest ? It is not one of these, Yet they are pretty things I love, And never fail to please. Oh, it is looks and tones of love From those I love the best That follow me when I do right — These make me happiest. THE RICHEST PRINCE. Once, as many German princes Feasting sat at knightly board, Each began to boast the treasures He within his lands had stored. Cried the Saxon : " Great and mighty Is the wealth, the power I wield, For within my Saxon mountains Sparkling silver lies concealed." " Mine's the land that glows with beauty I" Cried the ruler of the Rhine ; " In the valleys yellow cornfields, On the mountains noble wine !" " Wealthy cities, spacious castles," Lewis said, Bavaria's lord, " Make my land to yield me treasures Great as those your fields afford." Wurtemberg's beloved ruler, Everard, called " the Bearded," cries, " I can boast no splendid cities, In my hills no silver lies ; " But I still can boast one jewel : Through my forests, wandering on, All my subjects know me — love me — I am safe with every one." Then the princes, all together, Rose within that lofty hall : " Bearded count, thou'rt rich," they shouted, " Thou art wealthiest of us all !" LESSONS OF LIFE. 101 THE MUSIC-LESSON. Touch the keys lightly, Nellie, my dear : The noise makes Johnnie Impatient, I fear. He looks very cross, I am sorry to see — Not looking at all As a brother should be. Whatever you're doing, Bear this always in mind : In all little things Be both thoughtful and kind. SUPPOSE. Suppose, my little lady, Your doll should break her head, Could you make it whole by crying Till } r our eyes and nose are red ? And wouldn't it be pleasanter To treat it as a joke, And say you're glad " 'twas Dolly's, And not your head, that broke " ? Suppose you're dressed for walking, And the rain comes pouring down, Will it clear off any sooner Because you scold and frown ? And wouldn't it be nicer For you to smile than pout, And so make sunshine in the house When there is none without? Suppose your task, my little man, Is very hard to get, Will it make it any easier For you to sit and fret ? And wouldn't it be wiser Than waiting, like a dunce, To go to work in earnest And learn the thing at once? Suppose that some boys have a horse, And some a coach and pair, 102 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. Will it tire you less while walking - To say, "It isn't fair "? And wouldn't it be nobler To keep your temper sweet, And in your heart be thankful You can walk upon your feet ? And suppose the world don't please you, Nor the wa) r some people do, Do you think the whole creation Will be altered just for you ? And isn't it, my boy or girl, The wisest, bravest plan, Whatever comes or doesn't come, To do the best you can ? Phcebe Cary. THE PALACE AND COTTAGE. High on a mountain's haughty steep Lord Hubert's palace stood ; Before it rolled a river deep, Behind it waved a wood. Low in an unfrequented vale A peasant built his cell ; Sweet flowers perfumed the cooling gale And graced his garden well. Loud riot through Lord Hubert's hall In noisy clamor ran ; He scarcely closed his eyes at all Till breaking day began. In scenes of quiet and repose Young William's life was spent ; With morning's early beam he rose, And forth to labor went. On sauces rich and viands fine Lord Hubert daily fed, His goblet filled with sparkling wine, His board with dainties spread. Warm from the sickle or the plough, His heart as light as air, His garden ground and dappled cow Supplied young William's fare. On beds of down, beset with gold, With satin curtains drawn, His feverish limbs Lord Hubert rolled From midnight's gloom to morn. Stretched on a hard and flocky bed The cheerful rustic lay, And sweetest slumbers lulled his head From eve to breaking day. Fever and gout and aches and pains Destroyed Lord Hubert's rest ; Disorder burnt in all his veins, And sickened in his breast. A stranger to the ills of wealth, Behind his rugged plough The cheek of William glowed with health, And cheerful was his brow. No gentle friend, to soothe his pain, Sat near Lord Hubert's bed ; ♦. His friends and servants, light and vain, From scenes of sorrow fled. But William, when, with many a year, His dying day came on, Had wife and child, with bosom dear, To lean and rest upon. The solemn hearse, the waving plume, A train of mourners grim, Carried Lord Hubert to the tomb, But no one grieved for him. No weeping eye, no gentle breast, Lamented his decay, LESSONS OF LIFE. 103 Nor round his costly coffin pressed To gaze upon his clay: But when within the narrow bed Old William came to lie, When clammy sweats had chilled his head And death had glazed his eye, Sweet tears, by fond affection dropt, From many an eyelid fell, And many a lip, by anguish stopt, Half spoke the sad farewell. No marble pile or costly tomb Is seen where William sleeps, But there wild thyme and cowslips bloom, And there affection weeps. Jane Taylor. THE MILLER OF DEE. There dwelt a miller, hale and bold, Beside the river Dee ; He worked and sang from morn till night, No lark more blithe than he ; And this the burden of his song For ever used to be : " I envy nobody, no, not I, And nobody envies me." " Thou'rt wrong, my friend," said good King Hal — " As wrong as wrong can be — For could my heart be light as thine, I'd gladly change with thee ; And tell me now, what makes thee sing, With voice so loud and free, While I am sad, though I'm the king, Beside the river Dee." The miller smiled and doffed his cap: " I earn my bread," quoth he ; " I love my wife, I love my friend, I love my children three ; I owe no penny I cannot pay ; I thank the river Dee, That turns the mill that grinds the corn That feeds my babes and me." " Good friend," said Hal, and sighed the while, " Farewell and happy be ; But say no more, if thou'dst be true, That no one envies thee : Thy mealy cap is worth my crown. Thy mill, my kingdom's fee ; Such men as thou are England's boast, O miller of the Dee !" Charles Mackay. PATIENT JOE; OR, THE NEWCASTLE COLLIER. Have you heard of a collier of honest renown, Who dwelt on the borders of Newcas- tle town ? His name it was Joseph — you better may know If I tell you he always was called Pa- tient Joe. Whatever betided, he thought it was right, And Providence still he kept ever in sight ; To those who love God, let things turn as they would, He was certain that all worked together for good. 104 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. He praised the Creator whatever be- I One day, at the pit, his old comrades fell ; — he found, How thankful was Joseph when mat- And they chatted, preparing to go un- ters went well ! derground ; How sincere were his offerings of j Tim Jenkins, as usual, was turning to praise for good health ! jest And how grateful for any increase of his wealth ! In trouble he bowed him to God's holy will : — How contented was Joseph when mat- ters went ill ! When rich and when poor, he alike understood That all things together were working for good. Joe's notion that all things which hap- pened were best. As Joe on the ground had unthink- ingly laid His provision for dinner, of bacon and bread, A dog, on the watch, seized the bread and the meat, And off with his prey ran with foot- steps so fleet. It was Joseph's ill-fortune to work in Now, to see the delight that Tim a pit Jenkins expressed ' With some who believed that profane- ness was wit ; When disasters befell him, much pleasure they showed, And laughed, and said, " Joseph, will this work for good?" " Is the loss of thy dinner, too, Joe, for the best?" " No doubt on't," said Joe ; " but as I must eat, 'Tis my duty to try to recover my meat." But always when these would profane- i So saying, he followed the dog a long ly advance That this happened by luck, and that happened by chance, round, While Tim, laughing and swearing, went down underground. Still Joseph insisted no chance could i Poor Joe soon returned, though his be found — Not a sparrow by accident falls to the ground. Among his companions who worked in the pit, bacon was lost, For the dog a good dinner had made at his cost. When Joseph came back he expected a sneer, And made him the butt of their prof- But the face of each collier spoke hor- ligate wit, Was idle Tim Jenkins, who drank and who gamed, Who mocked at his Bible, and was not ashamed. ror and fear : " What a narrow escape hast thou had," they all said, " For the pit's fallen in and Tim Jen- kins is dead !" LESSONS OF LIFE. 105 How sincere was the gratitude Joseph expressed ! How warm the compassion that glowed in his breast ! Thus events, great and small, if aright understood, Will be found to be working to- gether for good. "When my meat," Joseph cried. " was just stolen away, And I had no prospect of eating to-day, How could it appear to a short- sighted sinner That my life would be saved by the loss of my dinner?" Hasxah More. THE BOY'S WISH. " Well, I think I'll be a soldier; Mother, don't you think I'm right ? It -must be so fine, I fancy, With a gun and sword to fight— " Fine to see the flags all flying, And to hear the cannon roar — Fine to get a silver medal When the fighting all is o'er. i Sha'n't I like to be a soldier, Charging with my gallant men ! I'll come home with hat and feathers: You won't know your Willie then." " Ah, my son, if you must battle, Be a soldier of the Lord ; Let your foe be sin and evil, And the Bible be your sword. " Your reward will be the brighter ; More, my son, than earthly gain ; Life with Jesus everlasting, All of pleasure, naught of pain." TWO PICTURES. An old farm-house, with meadows wide, And sweet with clover on each side ; A bright-eyed boy, who looks from out The door, with woodbine wreathed about, And wishes his one thought all day : "Oh, if I could but fly away 106 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. From this dull spot, the world to see, How happy, happy, happy, How happy I should be!" Amid the city's constant din, A man who round the world has been, Who, 'mid the tumult and the throng, Is thinking, thinking, all day long, " Oh, could I only tread once more The field-path to the farm-house door, The old green meadows could I see, How happy, happy, happy, How happy I. should be I" Marian Douglas. KITTY. Alas! little Kitty — do give her your pity !— Had lived seven years, and was never called pretty ! Her hair was bright red and her eyes were dull blue, And her cheeks were so freckled, They looked like the speckled Wild lilies Avhich down in the meadow-lands grew. If her eyes had been black, if she'd only had curls, She had been, so she thought, the most happy of girls. Her cousins around her, they pouted and fretted, But they were all pretty and they were all petted ; While poor little Kitty, though striving her best To do her child's duty, Not sharing their beauty, Was always neglected and never caressed. All in vain, so she thought, was she loving and true, While her hair was bright red and her eyes were dull blue. But one day, alone 'mid the clover- blooms sitting, She heard a strange sound, as of wings round her flitting ; A light not of sunbeams, a fragrance more sweet Than the wind's, blowing over The red-blossomed clover, Made her thrill with delight from her head to her feet ; And a voice, sweet and rare, whispered low in the air, " See that beautiful, beautiful child sitting there !" Thrice blessed little Kitty! She al- most looked pretty ! Beloved by the angels, she needed no pity ! juvenile charmers ! with shoul- ders of snow, Ruby lips, sunny tresses — Forms made for caresses — There's one thing, my beauties ! 'tis well you should know : Though the world is in love with bright eyes and soft hair, It is only good children the angels call fair. Marian Douglas. BESSIE BELL. " Dear mother, why do all the girls Love little Bessie Bell ? I've often thought it o'er and o'er, And yet I cannot tell. My favorite cousin always was Dear, gentle cousin Bess ; LESSONS OF LIFE. 107 But why the girls all love her so, Indeed I cannot guess. " She's not so pretty, half, as Kate ; Her hair don't curl like mine ; Candies and cakes she never brings To school, like Caroline ; She has no garden large and fine, Like Amy, Grace, and Jane ; Xo coach, like Rose, to take us home When falls the snow or rain." *' They hear her gentle voice, my child, And see her mild, soft eye Beaming around on every one With love and sympathy. They see her striving every hour For others' happiness ; These are some reasons why the girls So love dear little Bess. " Her widowed mother's heart she cheers By love and tenderness, And by her daily walk with God. And growth in holiness. Sweet Bessie is a Christian child, She loves the Saviour dear ; One of the lambs of His own flock. She has no want or fear. '" Money, which other children spend In candies, toys, and cake, She carries to the poor and sick — She loves them for Christ's sake. Poor old blind Dinah down the lane She reads to every day, And ne'er forgets it — though dear Bess Is very fond of play. "And now, my little daughter dear, Would you be loved like Bess ? Go ask of God to change your heart From pride and sinfulness Better than beauty, rank, or gold To be like little Bess, Clothed in the spotless garment Of the Saviour's righteousness.'" Youth's Penny Gazette. 108 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. OLD CATO. ANNA. Why, here comes old Cato ! how smi- ling he looks, Though he's limping along on his staff; His clothes are all patched, and so worn and so poor I wonder he ever can laugh. I've heen at his cottage ; the snow and the rain Beat through it at every flaw ; 'Tis neat as a pin, but so empty and dark ! And his bed, why, 'tis nothing but straw. What is it that makes him so cheerful, mamma, A cripple, and wretchedly j^oor ? If I were as old and as helpless as he I should cry all the time, I am sure. MAMMA. I'll tell you, my dear : old Cato has found A Friend and a Father in heaven ; He loves the dear Saviour, obeys His commands, And trusts that his sins are forgiven. When the wind loudly roars, and the snow and the rain Are drenching his desolate home, He thinks of that glorious mansion where storms Are never permitted to come. And when he sits down to his poor, scanty meal, Which to others so tasteless appears, He remembers his Saviour was poor for his sake, And he waters his crust with his tears. He is old, but it gladdens his heart to reflect That his trials will shortly be o'er — That he soon shall arrive at a world of delight, To sin and to suffer no more. And he thinks, when he lies on his bundle of straw, With his weary limbs aching for rest, That he soon shall awake in the arms of his Lord, And be to eternity blest. For his dear fellow-sinners he pours out his soul In frequent affectionate prayers, And is often inviting the old and the young To receive his Redeemer for theirs. And now do you wonder that Cato should smile, And that his old heart should be glad? Oh, if I could have such a spirit as his, I never again should be sad. DISCONTENT. Down in a field, one day in June, The flowers all bloomed together, Save one, who tried to hide herself, And drooped, that pleasant weather. A robin, who had soared too high, And felt a little lazy, Was resting near a buttercup, Who wished she were a daisy. LESSONS OF LIFE. 109 For daisies grow so trig and tall ; She always had a passion For wearing frills about her neck, In just the daisies' fashion. And buttercups must always be The same old, tiresome color, While daisies dress in gold and white, Although their gold is duller. " Dear robin," said this sad young flower, " Perhaps you'd not mind trying To find a nice white frill for me Some day, when you are flying." " You silly thing !" the robin said ; " I think you must be crazy ; I'd rather be my honest self Than any made-up daisy. " You're nicer in your own" bright gown ; The little children love you j Be the best buttercup you can, And think no flower above you. " Though swallows leave me out of sight, We'd better keep our places ; Perhaps the world would all go wrong With one too many daisies. " Look bravely up into the sky, And be content with knowing That God wished for a buttercup Just here, where you are growing." Sarah O. Jewett. THE OLD MAN'S COMFORTS; AND HOW HE GAINED THEM. You are old, Father William, the young man cried, The few locks which are left you are gray ; You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man ; Now tell me the reason, I pray. In the days of my youth, Father Wil- liam replied, I remembered that youth would fly fast, And abused not my health and my vigor at first, That I never might need them at last. You are old, Father William, the young man cried, And pleasures with youth pass away, And yet you lament not the days that are gone ; Now tell me the reason, I pray. In the days of my youth, Father Wil- liam replied, I remembered that youth could not last; I thought of the future, whatever I did, That I never might grieve for the past. You are old, Father William, the young man cried, And life must be hastening away ; You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death ; Now tell me the reason, I pray. I am cheerful, young man, Father William replied ; Let the cause thy attention engage : In the days of my youth I remem- bered my God, And He hath not forgotten my age. BOBERT SOUTHEY. 110 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. MEDDLESOME MATTY. One ugly trick has often spoiled The sweetest and the best : Matilda, though a pleasant child, One ugly trick possessed, Which, like a cloud before the skies, Hid all her better qualities. Sometimes she'd lift the tea-pot lid To peep at what was in it, Or tilt the kettle, if you did But turn your back a minute. In vain you told her not to touch, Her trick of meddling grew so much. Her grandmamma went out one day, And by mistake she laid Her spectacles and snuff-box gay Too near the little maid ; " Ah well !" thought she, " I'll try them on As soon as grandmamma is gone." Forthwith she placed upon her nose The glasses large and wide, And looking round, as I suppose, The snuff-box too she spied. " Oh, what a pretty box is that ! I'll open it," said little Matt. " I know that grandmamma would say, ' Don't meddle with it, dear !' But then she's far enough away, And no one else is near ; Besides, what can there be amiss In opening such a box as this ?" So thumb and finger went to work To move the stubborn lid, And presently a mighty jerk The mighty mischief did ; For all at once — ah woeful case ! — The snuff came puffing in her face. Poor eyes and nose and mouth beside A. dismal sight presented; In vain, as bitterly she cried, Her folly she repented — In vain she ran about for ease ; She could do nothing now but sneeze. LESSONS OF LIFE. Ill She dashed the spectacles away To wipe her tingling eyes, And as in twenty bits they lay, Her grandmamma she spies. ;i Hey-day ! and what's the matter now ?" Says grandmamma, with lifted brow. Matilda, smarting with the pain, And tingling still and sore, Made many a promise to refrain From meddling evermore. And 'tis a fact, as I have heard, She ever since has kept her word. Jane Taylor. THE MILKMAID. A milkmaid, who poised a full pail on her head, Thus mused on her prospects in life, it is said : c ' Let's see — I should think that this milk will procure One hundred good eggs, or fourscore, to be sure. " Well, then — stop a bit — it must not be forgotten Some of these may be broken, and some may be rotten ; But if twenty for accident should be detached, It will leave me just sixty sound eggs to be hatched. " Well, sixty sound eggs — no, sound chickens, I mean ; Of these some may die — we'll suppose I Thirty geese and two turkeys, eight seventeen. pigs and a sow : Seventeen ? not so many — say ten at Now, if these turn out well, at the end the most, of the year Which will leave fifty chickens to boil | I shall fill both my pockets with or to roast. I guineas, 'tis clear." " But then there's their barley ; how much will they need ? Why, they take but one grain at a time when they feed ; So that's a mere trifle ; now, then, let us see At a fair market price how much money there'll be. " Six shillings a pair — five — four — three-and-six ; To prevent all mistakes, that low price I will fix ; Now what will that make ? fifty chick- ens I said ; Fifty times three-and-sixpence — I'll ask brother Ned. " Oh ! but stop — three-and-sixpence a pair I must sell 'em ; Well, a pair is a couple — now, then, let us tell 'em ; A couple in fifty will go — (my poor brain !) Why, just a score times, and five pair will remain. ''Twenty-five pairs of fowls — now, how tiresome it is That I cannot reckon up such money as this ! Well, there's no use in trying, so let's give a guess — I'll say twenty pounds, and it cannot be less. " Twenty pounds, I am certain, will buy me a cow, 112 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. Forgetting her burden when this she had said, The maid superciliously tossed up her head ; When, alas for her prospects ! — her milk-pail descended, And so all her schemes for the future were ended. This moral, I think, may be safely attached : Reckon not on your chickens before they are hatched. Jeffreys Taylor. THE CHATTERBOX. From morning till night it was Lucy's delight To chatter and talk without stop- ping ; There was not a day but she rattled away, Like water for ever a-dropping. No matter at all if the subjects were small • Or not worth the trouble of saying, 'Twas equal to her ; she would talking prefer To working, or reading, or playing. You'll think now, perhaps, that there would have been gaps If she had not been wonderful clever — That her sense was so great, and so witty her pate, It would be forthcoming for ever ; But that's quite absurd ! for have you not heard That much tongue and few brains are connected ? — That they are supposed to think least who talk most, And their wisdom is always sus- pected ? While Lucy was young, had she bridled her tongue With a little good sense and exer- tion, Who knows but she might now have been our delight, Instead of our jest and aversion ? Jane Taylor. TRUTHFUL DOTTIE; OR, THE BROKEN . VASE. Nellie and Dottie Both hear mamma say, " Pray, from the drawing-room Keep away. ' Don't take your toys there, Lest some one should call ; Run out in the garden With rope, bat, and ball." The garden is lovely This bright summer day ; LESSONS OF LIFE. 113 But 'Nellie and Dottie Too soon come away. Into the drawing-room Dottie comes skipping, With her new rope All the furniture flipping : Down goes the tall vase, So golden and gay, Smashed all to pieces. " What will mamma say ? " Cries Nell, with her hands raised. " Oh, Dottie, let's run ; They'll think it was pussy, Who did it in fun." Dot answers, through hig tears, " But, Nell, don't you see, Though nobody watched us, God knows it was me ? Mamma always says That, whatever we do, The harm's not so great If we dare to be true. So I'll go up and tell her It caught in my rope ; Perhaps she won't scold much — At least, so I'll hope." " That's right," cries her mother, Who stands by the door ; " I would rather ten vases Were smashed on the floor Than my children should once break The bright words of truth, The dearest possession Of age or of youth. The vase can be mended, And scarce show a crack, But a falsehood once spoken Will never come back." However much grieved for By young folks or old, An untruth once uttered For ever is told. c. L. M. A BOY WHO TOLD A LIE. The mother looked pale, and her face was sad ; She seemed to have nothing to make her glad ; She silently sat with the tears in her eye, For her dear little boy had told a lie. He was a gentle, affectionate child, His ways were winning, his temper was mild ; There was love and joy in his soft blue eye, But the dear little boy had told a lie. He stood alone by the window with- in, For he felt that his soul was stained with sin ; And his mother could hear him sob and cry, Because he had told her that wicked lie. Then he came and stood by his moth- er's side, And asked for a kiss, which she de- nied ; While he promised, with many a pen- itent sigh, That he never would tell another lie. So she bade him before her kneel gen- tly down, And took his soft hands within her own, And she kissed his cheek as he looked on high And prayed to be pardoned for telling that lie. 114 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. TO A LITTLE GIRL THAT HAS TOLD A LIE. And has my darling told a lie ? Did she forget that God was by — That God who saw the thing she did, From whom no action can be hid ? Did she forget that God could see And hear, wherever she might be ? He made y©ur eyes, and can discern Whichever way you think to turn ; He made your ears, and He can hear When you think nobody is near ; In every place, by night or day, He watches all you do and say. Oh, how I wish you would but try To act as shall not need a lie ! And when you wish a thing to do That has been once forbidden you, Remember that, nor ever dare To disobey, for God is there ! Why should you fear the truth to tell ? Does falsehood ever do so well? Can you be satisfied to know There's something wrong to hide be- low? No ! let your fault be what it may, To own it is the happy way. So long as. you your crime conceal You cannot light and gladsome feel ! LESSONS OF LIFE. 116 Your little heart will seem opprest As if a weight were on your breast ; And e'en your mother's eye to meet Will tinge your face with shame and heat. Yes, God has made your duty clear By every blush, by every fear ; And conscience, like an angel kind, Keeps watch to bring it to your mind : Its friendly warnings ever heed, And neither tell a lie — nor need. Jane Taylor. NOT READY FOR SCHOOL. Pray, where is my hat? It is taken away, And my shoe-strings are all in a knot ; I can't find a thing where it should be to-day, Though I've hunted in every spot. Do, Rachel, just look for my atlas up stairs — . My iEsop is somewhere there too ; And, sister, just brush down these troublesome hairs, And, mother, just fasten my shoe. And, sister, beg father to write an ex- cuse ; — But stop ! he will only say " No," And go on with a smile and keep read- ing the news, While everything bothers me so. My satchel is heavy and ready to fall ; This old pop-gun is breaking my map; I'll have nothing to do with the pop- gun or ball — There's no playing for such a poor chap. The town-clock will strike in a min- ute, I fear, Then away to the foot I will sink ; There ! look at my Carpenter tumbled down here, And my Worcester covered with ink. I wish I'd not lingered at breakfast the last, Though the toast and the butter were fine; I think that our Edward must eat pretty fast, To be off when I haven't done mine. Now Edward and Henry protest they won't wait, And beat on the door with their sticks ; I suppose they will say / was dressing too late; To-morrow, VU be up at six. Caroline Gilmax. THE BOY'S COMPLAINT ABOUT BUTTER. Oh, mother, won't you speak to Kate ? I have not had enough to eat ; And when she spreads a little bread, She thinks she gives me such a treat, I only wish I was a man. To have my butter an inch thick. And not be talking all the time How this and that will make me sick. Poor little boys are sadly used ; They cannot have the thing they wish, 116 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. While grown-up people help them- selves To what they like from As soon as I become a man I'll have a pie as tall as you. With door and windows like a house, And lined with plums all through and through. And I'll go in Avhene'er I choose, And sit as snug as Jacky Horner ; And even Katie, though she's cross, Shall sometimes come and eat a cor- ner. My windows all, with jelly made, Like Boston glass shall glisten bright, And sugar-candy for the frames At every turn shall meet my sight. My floors shall be of ginger-bread, Because that's pretty hard, you know, Sanded all o'er with sugar-plums, Boiling about where'er I go. And, mother, Kate, my cellaret Shall be all butter shaped with ice, And then we'll see if I must fret Because I want a little slice. And, mother — oh, she's gone away ! And, Katie — what ! you've left me too ? I won't stand talking to the walls, But go and find some work to do. Caroline Gilman. IDLE ANNA. Oh, Anna, this will never do ; This work is sadly done, my dear ; And then so little of it, too ! You have not taken pains, I fear. Oh no, your work has been forgotten ; Indeed, you hardly thought of that : every dish: ( I saw you roll your spool of cotton About the floor to please the cat. See, here are stitches straggling wide ; And others stretching down so far ; I'm very sure you have not tried In this, at least, to please mamma. The little girl who will not sew Must neither be allowed to play ; And now I hope, my love, that you Will take more pains another day. THE LAZY BOY. The lazy lad ! and what's his name ? I should not like to tell ; But don't you think it is a shame That he can't read or spell? He'd rather swing upon a gate, Or paddle in the brook, Than take his pencil and his slate. Or try to con his book. There ! see, he's lounging down the street, His hat without a rim ; He rather drags than lifts his feet — His face unwashed and grim. He's lolling now against a post, But if you've seen him once, You'll know the lad amongst a host For what he is — a dunce. Don't ask me what's the urchin's name, — I do not choose to tell ; But this you'll know — it is the same As his who does not blush for shame That he don't read or spell. y. c. LFSSOXS OF LIFE. 117 k!_ m :L£ i^ A^\l_Si^S^ ALL HAVE WORK TO. DO. A child went wandering through a wood Upon a summer day ; She hoped to meet some pretty thing To join her in her play. The cloudless sky above was blue, The grass beneath was green, And all around were lovely flowers, The brightest ever seen. A honey-bee went humming by — 11 Stay, little bee !" she cried, " Oh, do come back and play with me." And thus the bee replied : " I cannot stay, I must away, And gather in my store, For winter drear will soon be here, When I can work no more."' She heard a pigeon cooing soft High in a bough above — " Come down, and play a while with me, My pretty, gentle dove/' " I cannot come and play with thee, For I must guard my nest, And keep my sleeping children warm Beneath my downy breast." She saw a squirrel gathering nuts Upon a tall beech tree — " I love to see you bound and leap ; Come down, and play with me." " I dare not play, I must away, ' And quickly homeward hie ; Were I to stay, my little ones For want of food must die." She came unto a stream that leaped Between its rocky banks — " Stay, pretty stream, and play with me, And vou shall have my thanks." 118 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. The stream replied, while in the pool A moment it stood still, ' { I cannot play, I must away And drive the village mill." The child sat down upon a stone, And hung her little head ; She wept a while, and sobbed a while, Then to herself she said, " The stream, the squirrel, dove, and bee Have all got work to do ; I must not play my hours away — I must be busy too." r. p. s. LAZY JANE. Who was that, dear mamma, who ate Her breakfast here this morn, With tangled hair and ragged shoes, And gown and apron torn ? " They call her Lazy Jane, my dear ; She begs her bread all day, And gets a lodging in a barn At night, among the hay ; " For when she was a little girl She loved to play too well ; At school she would not mind her book, Nor learn to read and spell. " ' Dear Jane,' her mother oft would say, ' Pray learn to work and read ; Then you'll be able when you're grown To earn your clothes and bread.' " But lazy Jenny did not care — She'd neither knit nor sew ; To romp with naughty girls and boys Was all that she would do. " So she grew up a very dunce, And when her parents died She knew not how to teach a school, Nor work, if she had tried. " And now, an idle vagabond, She strolls about the streets, And not a friend can Jenny find In anj' one she meets. " And now, my child, should you ne- glect Your book or work again, Or play when you should be at school, Remember Lazy Jane." " Lullabies and Ditties." THE SLUGGARD. 'Tis the voice of the sluggard: I heard him complain, " You have waked me too soon, I must slumber again." As the door on its hinges, so he, on his bed, Turns his sides and his shoulders, and his heavy head. " A little more sleep, and a little more slumber ;" Thus he wastes half his days, and his hours without number ; And when he gets up he sits folding his hands, Or walks about sauntering, or trifling he stands. I passed by his garden, and saw the wild brier, The thorn, and the thistle grow broad- er and higher : The clothes that hang on him are turning to rags, And his money still wastes, till he starves, or he begs. LESSONS OF LIFE. 119 I made him a visit, still hoping to find He'd taken better care for improving his mind ; He told me his dreams, talked of eat- ing and drinking ; But he scarce reads his Bible, and never loves thinking. Said I then to my heart, " Here's a lesson for me : That man's but a picture of what I might be ; But thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding, Who taught me by times to love work- ing and reading ! Isaac Watts. OVER THE FENCE. BOY. Over the fence is a garden fair — How I would love to be master there ! All that I lack is a mere pretence — I could leap over the low white fence. CONSCIENCE. This is the way that crimes com- mence ; Sin and sorrow are over the fence. BOY. Over the fence I can toss my ball, Then I can go in for it — that is all ; Picking an apple up near a tree Would not be really a theft, you see. CONSCIENCE. This is a falsehood — a weak pretence ; Sin and sorrow are over the fence. BOY. Whose is the voice that speaks so plain ? Twice have I heard it, and not in vain. Ne'er will I venture to look that way, Lest I shall do as I planned to-day. CONSCIENCE. This is the way that all crimes com- mence, Coveting that which is over the fence. PRINCIPLE PUT TO THE TEST. A youngster at school, more sedate than the rest, Had once his integrity put to the test : His comrades had plotted an orchard to rob, And asked him to go and assist in the job. He was very much shocked, and an- swered, " Oh no ! What, rob our poor neighbor ! I pray you don't go ; Besides, the man's poor, and his or- chard's his bread ; Then think of his children, for they must be fed." " You speak very fine, and you look very grave, But apples we want, and the apples we'll have ; If you will go with us, we'll give you a share, If not, you shall have neither apple nor pear." 120 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. They spoke, and Tom pondered : " I see they will go; Poor man ! what a pity to injure him so ! Poor man ! I would save him his fruit if I could, But my staying behind will do him no good. " If this matter depended alone upon me, His apples might hang till they dropped from the tree ; But since they will take them, I think I'll go too; He will lose none by me, though I do get a few." His scruples thus silenced, Tom felt more at ease, And went with his comrades the ap- ples to seize ; He blamed and protested, but joined in the plan ; He shared in the plunder, but pitied the man. Conscience slumbered a while, but soon woke in his breast, And in language severe the delinquent addressed : " With such empty and selfish pre- tences away ! By your actions you're judged, be your speech what it may." William Cowper. WILLIE AND THE APPLE. Little Willie stood under an apple tree old ; The fruit was all shining with crimson and gold, Hanging temptingly low; how he longed for a bite, Though he knew if he took one it wouldn't be -right ! Said he, " I don't see why my father should say, ' Don't touch the old apple tree, Wil- lie, to-day ;' I shouldn't have thought — now they're hanging so low — When I asked for just one, he should answer me ' No.' " He would never find out if I took but just one, And they do look so good, shining out in the sun ; There are hundreds and hundreds, and he wouldn't miss So paltry a little red apple as this." He stretched forth his hand, but a low, mournful strain Came wandering dreamily over his brain ; In his bosom a beautiful harp had long laid, That the angel of conscience quite frequently played. And he sung, " Little Willie, beware, oh beware ! Your father has gone, but your Maker is there ; How sad you would feel if you heard the Lord say, ' This dear little boy stole an apple to- day ' !" Then Willie turned round, and, as still as a mouse, Crept slowly and carefully into the house ; LESSONS OF LIFE. 121 In his own little chamber he knelt down to pray That the Lord would forgive him, and please not to say, " Little Willie almost stole an apple to- day." M. A. D. THE APPLE TREE. Old John had an apple tree, healthy and green, Which bore the best codlings that ever were seen, So juicy, so mellow, and red ; And when they were ripe he disposed of his store To children or any who passed by his door, To buy him a morsel of bread. Little Dick, his next neighbor, one often might see With longing eye viewing this fine apple tree, And wishing a codling might fall. One day, as he stood in the heat of the sun, He began thinking whether he might not take one, And then he looked over the wall. And as he again cast his eye on the tree, He said to himself, " Oh, how nice they would be, So cool and refreshing to-day ! The tree is so full, and one only I'll take ; And John cannot see if I give it a shake, And nobody is in the way." But stop, little boy ; take your hand from the bough ; Remember, though John cannot see you just now, And no one to chide you is nigh, There is One who by night, just as well as by day, Can see all } T ou do, and can hear all you sny, From His glorious throne in the sky. Oh, then, little boy, come away from the tree, Lest tempted to this wicked act you should be. 'Twere better to starve than to steal ; For the great God, who even through darkness can look, Writes down every crime we commit in His book, Nor forgets what we try to conceal. Jane Taylor. THE STOLEN TOP. " Edward, come here ; how pale you are ! What makes you look so wild ? And you've been crying sadly too ; What's happened to my child '?" " You know, mamma, you sent me down To neighbor Brightman's shop With ninepence in my hand, to buy A little humming-top. " Well, neighbor Brightman handed down A dozen tops or more, For me to make a choice of one ; Then stepped toward the door. 122 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY " So then I caught one slyly up, And in my pocket slid it ; And no one would suspect the thing, So cunningly I hid it. " And so I bought another top And laid my ninepence down, Then laughed to think I owned them both, i But paid for only one. " But when I turned and left the shop I felt most dreadfully, For all the time I was in fear That he would follow me. " Surely, thought I, hell find it out ; The angry man will come, And I shall never see mamma, And never more go home. " He'll tie a rope around my neck, And hang me up on high ; And leave the little wicked thief To hang there till he die. " And then I screamed, and ran so fast A down the nearest lane ; And then I turned and looked behind, Then screamed and ran again. "Trembling, at last I reached my home, And straight I went to bed, But oh, in such a shocking fright That I was almost dead. " No rest, nor comfort could I get, And not a wink of sleep : All I could do was toss and turn From side to side, and weep. " And what was worst of all, mamma, I could not say my prayers ; And then I thought my heart would burst, And I was drowned in tears. " ' No, no,' I cried ; ' God will not hear A child so wicked pray ; I dare not hope He'll let me live To see another day.' "Thus did I mourn till morning's dawn, And yet found no relief; For oh, what comfort can there be, Or pleasure, for a thief?" " Go, my poor, wretched, guilty child — Go, take the top you stole, And give it to the man you've wronged. And own to him the whole. " Then on your knees before your God Confess how wrong you've been ; Beg Him to save you, and forgive This great and dreadful sin. " And never, while you live, again To such a deed consent, Lest He should take away your life Before you can repent." " Lullabies and Ditties." WHAT THE CHOIR SANG ABOUT THE NEW BONNET. A foolish little maiden bought a fool- ish little bonnet, With a ribbon and a feather and a bit of lace 1 upon it ; And that the other maidens of the lit- tle town might know it, She thought she'd go to meeting the next Sunday, just to show it. LESSONS OF LIFE. 123 But though the little bonnet was scarce I And the little head that's filled with larger than a dime, silly airs The getting of it settled proved to be \ Will never get a blessing from ser- a work of time ; So, when it was fairty tied, all the bells had stopped their ringing, And when she came to meeting, sure enough, the folks were singing. So this foolish little maiden stood and waited at the door, And she shook her ruffles out behind, and smoothed them down before. " Hallelujah ! hallelujah !" sang the choir above her head ; "Hardly knew you ! hardly knew you !" were the words she thought they said. This made the little maiden feel so very, very cross That she gave her little mouth a twist and her head a little toss. For she thought the very hymn they sang was all about her bonnet, With a ribbon and a feather and a bit of lace upon it. And she did not wait to listen to the sermon or the prayer, But pattered down the silent street and hurried up the stair, Till she'd reached her little bureau, and in a bandbox on it Had hidden, safe from critic's eye, her foolish little bonnet. Which proves, my little maidens, that each of you will find In every Sabbath service but an echo of your mind ; mons or from prayers. Miss Hammond. THE TWO TRAVELLERS. There went two travellers forth one day ; To a beautiful mountain they took their way — The one an idle hour to employ, The other to see, to learn, to enjoy. And when from their journeying homeward they came, There crowded around them master and dame, And a storm of questions from great and small : " Now, what have you seen ? — Pray tell us all." The first one yawned as he answer made. " Seen ? — Why, little enough," he said : " Trees and meadows and brook and grove, And song-birds around, and sunshine above." The other gave smiling the same re- ply > But with brightening face and flash- ing eye : " Oh, trees and meadows, and brook and grove, And song-birds around, and sunshine above." 124 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. AK 171 V^ If 1 :' I C%to,v V/'V-T^X THE USE OF SIGHT. " What, Charles ! returned ?" papa ex- claimed ; " How short your walk has been ! But Thomas — Julia — where are they? Come, tell me what you've seen." " So tedious, stupid, dull a walk," Said Charles, " I'll go no more ; First stopping here, then lagging there, O'er this and that to pore. " I crossed the fields near Woodland House, And just went up the hill ; Then by the river-side came down, Near Mr. Fairplay's mill." Now Tom and Julia both ran in : " Oh, dear papa !" said the}^, " The sweetest walk we both have had ! Oh, what a pleasant clay ! " Near Woodland House we crossed the fields, And by the mill we came." " Indeed !" exclaimed papa, " how's this ? Your brother took the same, " But very dull he found the walk. What have you there ? Let's see : Come, Charles, enjoy this charming treat, As new to you as me." LESSONS OF LIFE. 125 " First look, papa, at this small branch, Which on a tall oak grew, And by its slimy berries white The mistletoe we knew. " A bird all green ran up a tree — A woodpecker we call — Who with his strong bill wounds the bark To feed on insects small. "And many lapwings cried 'peewit,' And one among the rest Pretended lameness to decoy Us from her lowly nest. " Young starlings, martins, swallows, all, Such lively flocks and gay ! A heron, too, which caught a fish, And with it flew away. " This bird we found, a kingfisher ; Though dead, his plumes how bright ! Do have him stuffed, my dear papa ; 'Twill be a charming sight. " When reached the heath, how wide the space ! The air how fresh and sweet ! We plucked these flowers and differ- ent heaths, The fairest we could meet. " The distant prospect we admired, The mountains far and blue ; A mansion here, a cottage there ; And see the sketch we drew. " A splendid sight we next beheld — The glorious setting sun ; In clouds of crimson, purple, gold, His daily race was done." " True taste with knowledge," said papa, " By observation's gained ; You've both used well the gift of sight, And thus reward obtained. " My Julia in this desk will find A drawing-box quite new ; And, Thomas, now this telescope I think is quite your due. " And toys, or still more useful gifts, For Charles too shall be bought When he can see the works of God, And prize them as he ought." Jane Taylor. THE STORY OF HANS, SHOWING THE FOLLY OF A BOY'S TRAD- ING AND SWAPPING. With seven years' wages on his back, Hans, very happy, took his course, But met a traveller on the track, And with his gold he bought a horse. At riding Hans was not expert, Which soon enough his horse found out, And tossed his rider in the dirt ; Hans kicked his feet and turned about, And saw a man who led a cow ; Quick with him Hans a bargain made ; Off the man trotted on his horse ; Hans thought it was a lucky trade. But when to get some milk he tried, And found the beast quite dry, it threw Poor Hans into a dreadful pet, And much he puzzled what to do. 126 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. But soon a man he saw come near Who drove a pig, and quickly he Changed off his cow, and with the pig Trotted along quite merrily. But pigs are awkward things to drive, Which Hans found out, and when he met A man who drove a goose, he quick A bargain made, and ceased to fret. He thought his goose nice eggs would lay; But just that hour a man came by With a nice grindstone in his hand ; Hans thought with this his luck to try. In journeying round and grinding knives, With driving he should have no pain ; And with his stone he thought he soon Might business find and money gain. But when a stream he met, and knelt To drink from out the pleasant brook, Down in the water rolled his stone : Hans gave his treasure one sad look, Then, up he jumped, free from all care, And tossed his hat and danced for joy. And off to work again he went, A careless, but a hungry boy. Stories and Rhymes for Children. THE HOLIDAYS. " Ah ! don't you remember 'tis almost December, And soon will the holidays come ? Oh, 'twill be so funny ! I've plenty of money ; I'll buy me a sword and a drum." Thus said little Harry, unwilling to tarry, Impatient from school to depart ; But we shall discover this holiday- lover Knew little what was in his heart. For when on returning he gave up his learning, Away from his sums and his books, Though playmates surrounded and sweetmeats abounded, Chagrin still appeared in his looks. Though first they delighted, his toys were now slighted, And thrown away out of his sight ; He spent every morning in stretching and yawning, Yet went to bed weary at night. He had not that treasure which really makes pleasure (A secret discovered by few) ; You'll take it for granted more play- things he wanted : Oh no ; it was something to do. We must have employment to give us enjoyment, And pass the time cheerfully aAvay, And study and reading give pleasure exceeding The pleasures of toys and of play. To school now returning, to study and learning With eagerness Harry applied ; He felt no aversion to books or exertion, Nor yet for the holidays sighed Jane Taylor. LESSONS OF LIFE. 127 A NEW YEAR'S GIFT. A charming present comes from town — A baby-house so neat, With kitchen, parlor, dining-room, And chambers all complete. A gift to Emma and to Rose, From grandpapa it came ; The little Rosa smiled delight, And Emma did the same. The} 7 eagerly examined all ; The furniture was gay ; And in the rooms they placed their dolls When dressed in fine array. At night their little family Must tenderly be fed, And then, when dollies were undressed, They all were put to bed. Thus Rose and Emma passed each hour Devoted to their play, And long were cheerful, happy, kind : No cross disputes had they ; Till Rose in baby-house would change The chairs which were below : " This carpet they would better suit ; I think I'll have it so." " No, no, indeed," her sister said ; " I'm older, Rose, than you ; And I'm the mistress, you the maid, And what I bid must do." The quarrel grew to such a height Mamma she heard the noise, And coming in beheld the floor All strewed with broken toys. " Oh fie, my Emma ! fie, my Rose ! Say, what is this about ? Remember this is New Year's Day, And both are going out." Now Betty calls the little girls To come up stairs and dress ;. They still dispute with muttered taunts. And anger they express. 128 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. But, just prepared to leave their room, • Persisting yet in strife, Rose sickening fell on Betty's lap, As if devoid of life. Mamma appeared at Betty's call, John for the doctor goes, And some disease of dangerous kind Its symptoms soon disclose. " But though I stay, my Emma, you May go and spend the day." " Oh no, mamma," replied the child, " I must with Rosa stay. " Beside my sister's bed I'll sit, And watch her with such care ; No pleasure can I e'er enjoy Till she my pleasure share. " How silly now seems our dispute ! Not one of us she knows ; How pale she looks ! how hard she breathes ! Alas ! my pretty Rose !" Jane Taylor. LITTLE BELL. He prayeth well, who loveth well Both man and bird and beast. Ancient Mariner. Piped the blackbird on the beechwood spray : " Pretty maid, slow wandering this way , What's your name ?" quoth he — " What's your name ? Oh stop and straight unfold, Pretty maid with showery curls of gold,"— " Little Bell," said she. Little Bell sat down beneath the rocks — Tossed aside her gleaming golden locks — " Bonny bird," quoth she, " Sing me your best song before I go." " Here's the very finest song I know, Little Bell," said he. And the blackbird piped ; you never heard Half so gay a song from any bird — Full of quips and wiles, Now so round and rich, now soft and slow, All for love of that sweet face below, Dimpled o'er with smiles. And the while the bonny*bird did pour His full heart out freely o'er and o'er 'Neath the morning skies, In the little childish heart below All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow, And shine forth in happy overflow From the blue, bright eyes. Down the dell she tripped and through the glade, Peeped the squirrel from the hazel shade, And from out the tree Swung and leajjed, and frolicked, void of fear, — While bold blackbird piped that all might hear — " Little Bell," piped he. Little Bell sat down amid the fern — " Squirrel, squirrel, to your task re- turn — Bring me nuts," quoth she. Up, away the frisky squirrel hies — Golden wood-lights glancing in his eyes — And adown the tree, Great ripe nuts, kissed brown by July sun, In the little lap dropped one by one — LESSONS OF LIFE. 129 Hark, how blackbird pipes to see the fun! " Happy Bell !" pipes he. Little Bell looked up and down the glade — "Squirrel, squirrel, if you're not afraid, Come and share with me !" Down came squirrel eager for his fare — Down came bonny blackbird, I de- clare ; Little Bell gave each his honest share — Ah the merry three ! And the while these frolic playmates twain Piped and frisked from bough to bough again, 'Neath the morning skies, In the little childish heart below All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow, And shine out in happy overflow From her blue, bright eyes. By her snow-white cot at close of day Knelt sweet Bell, with folded palms to pray — Very calm and clear Rose the praying voice to where, un- seen, In blue heaven, an angel shape serene Paused a while to hear — '"What good child is this," the angel said, "That with happy heart, beside her bed, Prays so lovingly?" Low and soft, oh ! very low and soft, Crooned the blackbird in the orchard croft, " Bell, dear Bell !" crooned he. " Whom God's creatures love," the angel fair Murmured, " God doth bless with an- gels' care ; Child, thy bed shall be Folded safe from harm — Love deep and kind Shall watch around and leave good gifts behind, Little Bell, for thee !" T. Westwood. VACATION. Oh, master, no more of your lessons ! For a season we bid them good-bye, And turn to the manifold teachings Of ocean, and forest, and sky. We must plunge into billow and breaker, The fields we must ransack anew. And again must the sombre woods echo The glee of our merry-voiced crew. From teacher's and preacher's dicta- tion — From all the dreaded lore of the books — Escaped from the thraldom of study, We turn to the babble of brooks ; We hark to the field-minstrels' music, The lowing of herds on the lea, The surge of the winds in the forest, The roar of the storm-angered sea. To the tree-tops Ave'll climb with the squirrels ; We will race with the brooks in the glens ; The rabbits we'll chase to their bur- rows ; The foxes we'll hunt to their dens : 130 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. The woodchucks, askulk in their cav- erns, We'll visit again and again ; And we'll peep into every bird's nest The copses and meadows contain. For ns are the blackberries ripening By many a moss-covered wall ; There are blue-hats enough in the thickets To furnish a treat for us all ; In the swamps there are ground-nuts in plenty ; The sea-sands their titbits afford ; And, oh most delectable banquet ! We will feast at the honey-bee's board. Oh, comrades, the gray beards assure us That life is a burden of cares — That the highways and byways of manhood Are fretted with pitfalls and snares. Well, school-days have their tribula- tions, Their troubles, as well 'as their joys ; Then give us vacation for ever, If we must for ever be boys ! Beverly Moore. LESSONS OF LIFE. 131 JEM AND THE SHOULDER OF MUTTON. Young Jem at noon returned from school As hungry as could be ; He cried to Sue the servant-maid, " My dinner give to me." Said Sue, " It is not yet come home ; Besides, it is not late." " No matter that," cries little Jem ; " I do not like to wait." Quick to the baker's Jemmy went, And asked, " Is dinner done?" " It is," replied the baker's man. " Then home I'll with it run." " Nay, sir," replied he prudently, " I tell you 'tis too hot, And much too heavy 'tis for you." " I tell you it is not. " Papa, mamma are both gone out, And I for dinner long; So give it me, it is all mine ; And, baker, hold your tongue. "A shoulder 'tis of mutton nice! And batter pudding too ! I'm glad of that, it is so good ; How clever is our Sue !" Now near the door young Jem was come ; He round the corner turned ; But oh, sad fate ! unlucky chance ! The dish his fingers burned. Low in the kennel down fell dish, And down fell all the meat ; Swift went the pudding in the stream, And sailed along the street. The people laughed and rude boys grinned At mutton's hapless fall ; But, though ashamed, young Jemmy cried, " Better lose part than all !" The shoulder by the knuckle seized, His hands both grasped it fast, And, deaf to all their jibes and cries, He gained his home at last. 132 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. " Impatience is a fault," cries Jem ; " The baker told me true ; In future I will patient be, And mind what says our Sue." Jane Taylob. THE PLUM-CAKE. " Oh, I've got a plum-cake, and a fine feast I'll make, So nice to have all to myself! I can eat every day while the rest are at play, And then put it by on the shelf." Thus said little John, and how soon it was gone ! For with zeal to his cake he ap- plied, While fingers and thumbs for the sweetmeats and plums Were hunting and digging beside. But, woeful to tell, a misfortune be- fell, That shortly his folly revealed ; After eating his fill he was taken so ill That the cause could not now be concealed. As he grew worse and worse, the doc- tor and nurse To cure his disorder were sent. And rightly, you'll think, he had physic to drink, Which made him sincerely repent. And while on the bed he rolled his hot head, Impatient with sickness and pain, He could not but take this reproof from his cake' : " Do not be such a glutton again." Jane Taylor. ANOTHER PLUM-CAKE. " Oh, I've got a plum cake, and a feast let us make ; Come, school-fellows, come at my call; I assure you 'tis nice, and we'll each have a slice — Here's more than enough for us all." Thus said little Jack, as he gave it a smack, And sharpened his knife to begin ; Nor was there one found upon the playground So cross that he would not come in. With masterly strength he cut through it at length, And gave to each playmate a share ; Charles, William, and James, and many more names, Partook his benevolent care. And when it was done, and they'd fin- ished their fun, To marbles or hoops they went back, And each little boy felt it always a joy To do a good turn for good Jack. In his task and his book his best pleasures he took, And as he thus wisely began, Since he's been a man grown he has constantly shown That a good boy will make a good man. Jane Taylor. LESSONS OF LIFE. 133 WHICH IS YOUR LOT? Some children roam the fields and hills, And others work in noisy mills ; Some dress in silks, and dance and While others drudge their lives away ; Some glow with health and bound with song, And some must suffer all day long. Which is your lot, my girl and boy ? Is it a life of ease and joy ? Ah, if it is, its glowing sun The poorer life should shine upon. Make glad one little heart to-day, And help one burdened child to play. THE BEGGAR-MAN. Around the fire, one wintry night, The farmer's rosy children sat ; The fagot lent its blazing light, And jokes went round and careless chat. When, hark ! a gentle hand they hear Low tapping at the bolted door ; And thus, to gain their willing ear, A feeble voice was heard t'implore: "Cold blows the blast across the moor; The sleet drives hissing in the wind ; Yon toilsome mountain lies before, A dreary, treeless waste behind. " My eyes are weak and dim with age; No road, no path, can I descry; And these poor rags ill stand the rage Of such a keen, inclement sky. " So faint I am, these tottering feet No more my feeble frame can bear ; My sinking heart forgets to beat, And drifting snows my tomb pre- pare. " Open your hospitable door, And shield me from the biting blast ; Cold, cold it blows across the moor, The weary moor that I have passed." With hasty step the farmer ran, And close beside the fire they place The poor, half-frozen beggar-man, With shaking limbs and pallid face. The little children flocking came, And warmed his stiff 'ning hands in theirs; And busily the good old dame A comfortable mess prepares. 134 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. Their kindness cheered his drooping soul, And slowly clown his wrinkled cheek The big, round tears were seen to roll, And told the thanks he could not speak. The children, too, began to sigh, And all their merry chat was o'er, And yet they felt, they knew not why, More glad than they had done be- fore. Lucy Aiken. TOMMY AND HIS SHILLING. Little Tommy found a shilling As he came from school one day ; " Now," said he, " I'll have a fortune, For I'll plant it right away. " Nurse once told me, I remember, When a penny I had found, It would grow and bear new pennies If I put it in the ground., " I'll not say a word to mother, For I know she would be willing ; Home I'll run, and in my garden Plant my precious bright new shil- ling. " Every day I'll give it water, And I'll weed it with great care ; And I guess before the winter It will many shillings bear. " Then I'll buy a horse and carriage, And a lot of splendid toys, And I'll give a hundred shillings To poor little girls and boys." Thus deluded, little Tommy Laid full many a splendid plan, As the little coin he planted, Wishing he were grown a man. Day bv day he nursed and watched it; Thought of nothing else beside ; Day by day was disappointed,. For no signs of growth he spied. Tired at last of hopeless waiting, More than any child could bear, Little Tommy told his secret To his mother in despair. Never was a kinder mother, But when his sad tale she heard, 'Twas so funny, she from laughing Could not sjjeak a single word. This was worse than all, for Tommy Thought his sorrow too severe, And in spite of every effort Down his cheek there rolled a tear. This his tender mother spying, Kissed it off before it fell ; " Where to plant your bright new shilling," Said she to him, " let me tell : " Peter Brown's two little children Long have wished to learn to read, But their father is not able To procure the books they need. " To their use if you will spend it, Precious seed you then may sow, And ere many months are ended, Trust me, you will see it grow." Mrs. S. W. JewetT. LESSOXS OF LIFE. 135 THE BEGGAR-BOY. A poor boy went by with his raiment all torn ; He looked, too, so dirty and very for- ' l lorn ; His coat was in tatters, no shoes on his feet, And they ached with the cold on the stones of the street. He lias no kind friends to instruct him and guide. And he hears what is sinful, and sees it beside ; Oh, how good and how thankful I then ought to be To the God who has given these good things to me ! Child's Book of Poetry. Poor boy! no kind father or mother THE BEGGAR'S PETITION. has he, Pity the sorrows of a poor old man, Nor has he a nice house at home as Whose trembling limbs have borne have we ; him to your door, He begs all the day for a morsel of Whose days are dwindled to the short- bread, est span ; And perhaps sleeps at night in a com- I Oh give relief, and Heaven will fortless shed. bless vour store. 136 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. These tattered clothes my poverty he- speak, These hoary locks proclaim my lengthened years, And many a furrow in my grief-worn cheek Has been the channel to a flood of tears. Yon house, erected on the rising ground With tempting aspect, drew me from my road ; For plenty there a residence has found, And grandeur a magnificent abode. Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor ! Here, as I craved a morsel of their bread, A pampered menial drove me from the door To seek a shelter in an humbler shed. Oh take me to your hospitable dome; Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold ; Short is my passage to the friendly tomb, For I am poor, and miserably old. Heaven sends misfortunes; why should we repine ? 'Tis Heaven has brought me to the state you see ; And your condition may be soon like mine, — The child of sorrow and of misery. A little farm was my paternal lot ; Then like the lark I sprightly hailed the morn ; But ah ! oppression forced me from my cot, My cattle died, and blighted was my corn. My daughter, once the comfort of my age, Lured by a villain from her native home, Is cast abandoned on the world's wide stage, And doomed in scanty poverty to roam. My tender wife, sweet soother of my care, Struck with sad anguish at the stern decree, Fell, lingering fell, a victim to de- spair, And left the world to wretchedness and me. Should I reveal the sources of my grief, If soft humanity e'er touched your breast, Your hands would not withhold the kind relief, And tears of pity would not be re- pressed. Pity the sorrows of a poor old man, 'Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door, Whose days are dwindled to the short- est span ; Oh give relief, and Heaven will" bless your store. Thomas Moss. LESSONS OF LIFE. 137 THE COMPLAINTS OF THE POOR. " And wherefore do the poor com- plain ?" The rich man asked of me : " Come, walk abroad with me," I said, " And I will answer thee." 'Twas evening, and the frozen streets Were cheerless to behold ; And we were wrapped and coated well, And yet Ave were a-cold. I We met an old, bareheaded man, His locks were thin and white ; I asked him what he did abroad In that cold winter's night. The cold was keen indeed, he said- But at home no fire had he ; And therefore he had come abroad To ask for charity. | We met a young barefooted child. | And she begged loud and bold ; 138 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. I asked her what she did abroad When the wind it blew so cold. She said her father was at home, And he lay sick abed ; And therefore was it she was sent Abroad to beg for bread. We saw a woman sitting down Upon a stone to rest ; She had a baby at her back, And another at her breast. I asked her why she loitered there, When the night-wind was so chill ; She turned her head, and bade the child That screamed behind, be still — Then told us that her husband served, A soldier, far away ; And therefore to her parish she Was begging back her way. We met a girl — her dress was loose, And sunken was her eye — Who with a wanton's hollow voice Addressed the passers-by ; I asked her what there was in guilt That could her heart allure To shame, disease, and late remorse ; She answered she was poor. I turned me to the rich man then, For silently stood he : " You asked me why thepoor complain; And these have answered thee !" Robert Southey. HELP THE POOR. BELL. Oh, Susey, stop a moment, dear, You don't know where I've been ; Oh, such a wretched, dismal sight, I'm sure you've never seen. I've been with mother to a house Where they are all so poor ; I gave them all my purse contained, And only wished 'twas more. A woman very pale and thin — A widow too, she said — And six young children, none of whom This day had tasted bread ; And not a single spark of fire This bitter, freezing day : Now, was there e'er a sadder sight, Dear Cousin Susey, say? Three little ones tried to keep warm In a poor wretched bed ; So cold was one the mother held I surely thought 'twas dead. Could you have seen how glad they looked When mother sent for wood, And bread and meat enough for all, 'Susey, 'twould do you good. SUSEY. I have a dollar here, dear Bell, Pa gave me yesterday ; I'll give it them : come, go with me, Well run there all the way. I'd rather make a sad heart smile Than buy a doll, I'm sure ; Indeed it must be very hard Such sorrow to endure. God made them poor — He made us rich, The wealth is all His own ; It was for them as well as us The Saviour left His throne. Let us henceforth save something, Bell, To help the suffering poor, And for God's bounty to us both His blessed name adore. LESSONS OF LIFE. 139 HI PRAISE FOR MERCIES. Whene'er I take my walks abroad, How many poor I see ! What shall I render to my God For all his gifts to me ? Not more than others I deserve, Yet God hath given me more ; For I have food, while others starve, Or beg from door to door. How many children in the street Half naked I behold, While I am clothed from head to feet, And covered from the cold ! While some poor creatures scarce can tell Where they may lay their head, 1 have a home wherein to dwell, And rest upon my bed. While others early learn to swear, And curse, and lie, and steal, Lord, I am taught Thy name to fear, And do Thy holy will. Are these Thy favors, day by day, To me above the rest ? Then let me love Thee more than they, And try to serve Thee best. Isaac Watts. THE BEGGAR-GIRL. There's a poor beggar going by ; I see her looking in ; She's just about as big as I, Only so very thin. She has no shoes upon her feet, She is so very poor; And hardly anything to eat : I pity her, I'm sure. 140 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. But I have got nice clothes, you know, And meat and bread and fire ; And dear mamma, that loves me so, And all that I desire. If I were forced to stroll so far, Oh dear ! what should I do ? I wish she had a kind mamma, Just such a one as you. Here, little girl, come back again, And hold that ragged hat, And I will put a penny in : There ! buy some bread with that. MY LITTLE HERO. " How we wish that we knew a hero !" Say the children, pressing round ; " Will you tell us if such a wonder In London streets can be found ?" I point from my study-window At a lad who is passing by : " My darlings, there goes a hero ; You well know his oft-heard cry.'' '• 'Tis the chimney-sweep, dear father, In his jacket so worn and old ; What can he do that is brave and true. Wandering out in the cold ?" Says Maudie, " I thought that a hero Was a man with a handsome face." " And I pictured him all in velvet dressed, With a sword," whispered little Grace. " Mine is only a 'sweeper,' children, His deeds all unnoticed, unknown ; Yet I think he is one of the heroes God sees and will -mark for His own. " Out there he looks eager and cheerful, No matter how poorly he fares ; No sign that his young heart is heavy With the weight of unchildish cares. " Home means to him but a dingy room, A father he shudders to see ; Alas for the worse than neglected sons Who have such a father as he ! " And a mother who lies on a ragged bed, So sick and worn and sad ; No friend has she but this one pale boy— This poor little sweeper-lad, " So rough to others, and all unskilled. Yet to her most tender and true, Oft waking with patient cheerfulness To soothe her the whole night through. " He wastes no time on his own scant meals, But goes forth with the morning sun ; Never a moment is wasted Till his long day's work is done. " Then home to the dreary attic Where his mother lies lonely all day, Unheeding the boys who would tempt him To linger with them and play. " Because she is helpless and lonely, He is doing a hero's part ; For loving and self-denying Are the tests of a noble heart." LESSONS OF LIFE. 141 POOR LITTLE JIM. The cottage was a thatched one, the outside old and mean, But all within that little cot was won- drous neat and clean ; The night was dark and stormy, the wind was howling wild, As a patient mother sat beside the deathbed of her child, A little worn-out creature, his once bright eyes grown dim. It was a collier's wife and child ; they called him little Jim ; And oh, to see the briny tears fast hurrying down her cheek, As she offered up the prayer in thought she was afraid to speak, Lest she might waken one she loved far better than her life, For she had all a mother's heart, had that poor collier's wife. With hands uplifted, see, she kneels beside the sufferer's bed, And prays that He would spare her boy, and take herself instead. She gets her answer from the child ; soft fall the words from him : " Mother, the angels do so smile, and beckon little Jim. I have no pain, dear mother, now, but oh, I am so dry ! Just moisten poor Jim's lips again, and, mother, don't you cry." With gentle, trembling haste she held the liquid to his lip ; He smiled to thank her as he took each little, tiny sip. " Tell father, when he comes from work, I said good-night to him ; And, mother, now I'll go to sleep." Alas ! poor little Jim ! She knew that he was dying — that the child she loved so dear, Had uttered the last words she might ever hope to hear. The cottage-door is opened, the collier's step is heard, The father and the mother meet, yet neither speaks a word. He felt that all was over, he knew his child was dead ; He took the candle in his hand and walked toward the bed ; His quivering lips gave token of the grief he'd fain conceal, And see, his wife has joined him — the stricken couple kneel ; With hearts bowed bown by sadness they humbly ask of Him In heaven once more to meet again their own poor little Jim. POOR KATY. " I don't like Katy ; she isn't nice — Her bonnet is old \ The house she lives in, it makes me laugh ; 'Tisn't much too large for my little brown calf; Not good enough for Bossy, by half— - She'd shiver in it with cold. " I don't like Katy ; her frocks are all torn — And she don't care. Now I never wore such a comical gown ; The pattern couldn't be found in town ; It must be her grandmother's dress cut down ; And onty look at her hair ! "I don't like Katy, do you, Nelly Gray ?" And Nelly replied : 142 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. " Do you know Molly Dow, the judge's daughter ? I saw her fall yesterday plump in the water ; And whose do you think were the hands that caught her, Or she would have died ?" " Perhaps her father's ?" " No, he was not there ! Down, down. she sank ! The pretty blue eyes and the golden curls All drenched and dim in the cloudy whirls — When out from a group of frightened girls Sprang poor Kate Blanc ! " It made me dizzy to see her fly Up to the brink, And over. ' I swim like a fish,' she cried, ■ And plunged at something that went with the tide ; 'Twas poor little Molly, the judge's pride, Just ready to sink. " The judge came then : you should have seen ! He held Molly tight ! But so he did Kate ! She's home with him now ; And they say the rich judge has taken a vow, That Kate shall be Molly's sister!— . Kate Dow ! I think it's right!" Mrs. M. A. Dennison. CLEAN CLARA. What ! not know our clean Clara ? Why, the hot folks in Sahara, And the cold Esquimaux, Our little Clara know ! Clean Clara, the poet sings, Cleaned a hundred thousand things. She cleaned the keys of the harpsi- chord, She cleaned the hilt of the family sword, She cleaned my lady, she cleaned my lord ; All the pictures in their frames, Knights with daggers, and stomach- ered dames ; Cecils, Godfreys, Montforts, Graemes, Winifreds — all those nice old names ! She cleaned the works of the eight-day clock, She cleaned the spring of a secret lock ; She cleaned the mirror, she cleaned the cupboard ; All the books she India-rubbered ! She cleaned the Dutch tiles in the place, She cleaned some very old-fashioned lace. The Countess of Miniver came to her, " Pray, my dear, will you clean my fur?" All her cleanings are admirable ; To count your teeth you will be able If you look in the walnut table ! She cleaned the tent-stitch and the sampler ; She cleaned the tapestry, which was ampler — Joseph going down into the pit, And the Shunammite woman, with the boy in a fit. LESSONS OF LIFE. 143 You saw the reapers, not in the dis- tance, And Elisha coming to the child's as- sistance ; With the house on the wall that was built for the prophet, The chair, the bed, and the bolster of it, The eyebrows all had a turn reflective, Just like an eel : to spare invective, There was plenty of color, but no perspective. However, Clara cleaned it all, With a curious lamp that hangs in the hall ; She cleaned the drops of the chande- liers. Madam in mittens was moved to tears ! She cleaned the cage of the cockatoo, The oldest bird that ever grew ; I should say a thousand years old would do — I'm sure he looked it, but nobody knew. She cleaned the china, she cleaned the delf, She cleaned the baby, she cleaned herself ! To-morrow morning she means to try To clean the cobwebs from the sky ; Some people say the girl will rue it, But my belief is she will do it. So I've made up my mind to be there to see! There's a beautiful place in the walnut tree ; The bough is as firm as the solid rock ; She brings out her broom at six o'clock. Lilliput Levee. NOTHING. I asked a lad what he was doing; " Nothing, good sir," said he to me. "By nothing well and long pursuing, Nothing," said I, " vou'll surely be." I asked a lad what he was thinking ; " Nothing," quoth he, " 1 do de- clare." " Many," said I, "in taverns drinking By idle minds were carried there." There's nothing great, there's nothing wise, Which idle hands and minds sup- piy ; Those who all thought and toil despise Mere nothings live, and nothings die, A thousand naughts are not a feather When in a sum they all are brought ; A thousand idle lads together Are still but nothings joined to naught. i ■ And yet of merit they will boast, And sometimes pompous seem, and haughty ; i But still 'tis ever plain to most That nothing boys are mostly naughty. A TRUE STORY. Little Ann and her mother were walk- ing one day Through London's wide city so fair, And business obliged them to go by the way That led them through Cavendish Square. 144 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. And as they passed by the great house of a lord, A beautiful chariot there came To take some most elegant ladies abroad, Who straightway got into the same. The ladies in feathers and jewels were seen, The chariot was painted all o'er ; The footmen behind were in silver and green, "All pale is her face, and deep sunk is her eye ; And her hands look like skeleton's bones ; She has got a few rags just about her to tie, And her naked feet bleed on the stones. " ' Dear ladies,' she cries — and the tears trickle down — ' Relieve a poor beggar, I pray ; The horses were prancing before. I I've wandered all hungry about this wide town, And not ate a morsel to-day Little Ann by her mother walked si- lent and sad, A tear trickled down from her " ' My father and mother are long ago eye; Then her mother said, "Ann, I should be very glad To know what it is makes you cry." " Mamma," said the child, " see that carriage so fair, All covered with varnish and gold; Those ladies are riding so charmingly there, While we have to walk in the cold. * You say, ' God is kind to the folks that are good,' But surely it cannot be true ; Or else I am certain, almost, that He would Give such a fine carriage to you." dead, My brother sails over the sea ; And I've scarcely a rag or a morsel of bread, As plainly, I'm sure, you may see. " 'A fever I caught which was terribly bad, But no nurse or physic had I ; An old dirty shed was the house that I had, And only on straw could I lie. " 'And now that I'm better, yet feeble and faint, And famished, and naked, and cold, I wander about with my grievous com- plaint, And seldom get aught but a scold. " Look there, little girl," said her " ' Some will not attend to my pitiful mother, " and see call ; What stands at that very coach- Some think me a vagabond cheat, door ; And scarcely a creature relieves me. A poor, ragged beggar, and listen how of all she The thousands that traverse the A halfpenny tries to implore. street. LESSONS OF LIFE. 145 " " Then, ladies, dear ladies, your pity bestow !' " Just then a tall footman came round, And, asking the ladies which way they would go, The chariot turned off with a bound. "Ah, see, little girl !" then her mother replied, '• How foolish those murmurs have been !" You have but to look on the contrary side To learn both your folly and sin. " This poor little beggar is hungry and cold, Xo mother awaits her return ; And while such an object as this you behold, Your heart should with gratiti.de burn. " Your house and its comforts, your food and your friends, 'Tis favor in God to confer ; Have you any claim to the bounty He sends Who makes you to differ from her ? "A coach and a footman, and gaudy attire. Give little true joy to the breast ; To be good is the thing you should chiefly desire, And then leave to God all the rest." Jane Taylor. But yesterday, dear grandpapa, I saw a painful sight ; It drew the money from my purse, And left it empty quite. A ragged boy led by the hand A little sister sweet, Who crept along the frozen ground With half-uncovered feet. My hand sought out the silver prize That in my pocket lay, When in my ear I heard a voice That softly seemed to say : " Think of the skates, the shining skates ! Think of the glorious ice ! If you relieve the suffering child. Pleasure must pay the price/' '' Pleasure a greater price musi pay," Another voice replied, ' ; If suffered thus to close the hand That Pity opens wide." Out came the money, grandpapa ; How could I then refuse? And to the smiling boy I said, " Buy ' Sis ' a pair of shoes." You should have seen the little girl, Her laughing eyes of blue. As, showering kisses from her hand. She sang, " New shoe ! new shoe !" MONEY AT INTEREST. I had some money in my purse. Kept there almost for ever, Waiting to buy a pair of skates To skate upon the river. TO " God bless the gift," said grand- papa, " And add to mercy's store ! He lendeth to the Lord, my son, Who giveth to the poor." Boys' and Giels' Magazine. 146 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. THE TWO DIMES. As Dick and Ben, one summer day, Were sauntering home, fatigued with play, They spied, close by a dark pine wood, A pair of shoes, coarse, strong, and good. It seemed as if the owner's care Was to preserve these shoes from wear, And so he'd placed them where they stood, And gone barefooted through the wood. Ben, glancing at the setting sun, Said, " Look here, Dick, let's have some fun : 'Twill soon be dark ; you won't refuse ; So bear a hand ; let's take these shoes ; And then we'll hide behind this stack, And wait till the old chap comes back, And let him hunt until we choose To sing out, ' Mister, here's your shoes.' " And ere he has a chance to try To catch us, we will let 'em fly Right at his head, plump in the face, And then we'll lead him such a race ! I wish the other boys were here ; We'd make old Two-shoes rub his ear. Come, take one, Dick; just feel its weight ; And when you fire, fire straight." " No, no," said Dick ; " not I, for one : I'm fond of joking, fond of fun; But who knows who this man may be? Perhaps he's poor as poor can be, And seeks in yonder dark pine wood To gather chips to cook his food. But come, don't let us have a spat ; We'll play a trick worth two of that. " I've got a dime, and so have you ; Let's put one into each old shoe, And then we'll creep behind this hay. And hear what the old man will say." " Agreed !" said Ben, who, fond of fun. And willing any risk to run To have a laugh, or play, or joke, Yielded at once when kindness spoke. So in the shoes they put their dimes. And back and forth went twenty times, And laughed and talked about the way The trick would end they meant to play. First, they would twist the shoes about, To make the precious dimes show- out ; Then place the silver in a way To catch the sun's departing ray. At length a sound their senses greet Of rustling leaves and moving feet ; And then, like kittens at their play. They ran and hid beneath the hay ; But, still afraid that they should lose A sight of him who owned the shoes, Kept peeping out, as if to view And note what he would say or do. And soon from out the lonely wood, In weary, sad, and thoughtful mood. An old man came, bowed down with years, Whose eyes betokened recent tears. His steps were feeble, tottering, slow ; His hair as white as driven snow; LESSONS OF LIFE. 147 And as he came toward the stack They saw the fagots on his back. At length he stopped as if to muse ; His tearful eyes turned toward his shoes ; When, as the silver met his sight, They flashed as with a heavenly light, And down upon the yielding sod He knelt with heartfelt thanks to God ; And, with his aged hands upraised, He said, ''0 God, Thy name be praised!"' And as the boys beneath the hay Listened with awe to hear him pray, They learned his story, sad and brief, Of toil and sickness, pain and grief; His children, one by one, had died, And he had laid them, side by side, Within the dark and chilly tomb, And o'er his life spread heartfelt gloom. Yet through that gloom a cheering ray Of hope sustained him on his way ; He felt that when this life was o'er His children he should see once more; And so, with patience, hope, and trust, He had consigned the dust to dust, And at the grave of each loved one He knelt and said, "Thy will be done." Then followed other ills of life — Cold, pinching want, a suffering wife. All this and more they heard him say As they lay hid beneath the hay ; And then, with cheek all wet with tears, In voice made tremulous by years, 1 They heard him ask of God to bless The hand that had relieved distress. But, rising from his knees at length. ' And leaning on his staff for strength, He thrust his feet within his shoes, And hurried homeward with the news. I The boys, half-buried 'neath the hay. Saw him go tottering on his way ; ' Then crawling out, they homeward went, Pleased with the way their dimes were spent. " I say," said Ben, " if I had died ! I couldn't help it, so I cried ; • But if I ever try again I To play a joke, my name ain't Ben !" " Well, well, we've had our fun," said Dick, ! And played a real handsome trick, ; And I sha'n't be ashamed to tell About a joke that ends so well." MORAL. The moral of this tale is plain : Cause no unnecessary pain ; Pluck from vour heart all evil thoughts ; Let love and kindness guide your sports ; And if induced to play a trick. Act tenderly, like honest Dick ; Or if in frolic now and then You're led astray, remember Ben. Remember, too, in pain or grief A prayer to God will bring relief. Or if with joy the heart expands, On bended knee, with upraised hands And heart uplifted to the skies, Let thanks in prayer and praise arise. God hears the gentlest sigh or prayer : He's ever present everywhere. 148 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY LUCY GRAY; OR, SOLITUDE. Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray ; And when I crossed the wild I chanced to see at break of day The solitary child. No mate, no comrade, Lucy knew : She dwelt on a wide moor — The sweetest thing that ever grew Beside a human door. You yet may spy the fawn at play The hare upon the green, But the sweet face of Lucy Gray Will nevermore be seen. " To-night will be a stormy night ; You to the town must go, And take a lantern, child, to light Your mother through the snow." " That, father, will I gladly do ; 'Tis scarcely afternoon ; The minster clock has just struck two. And yonder is the moon." At this the father raised his hook, And snapped a fagot-band ; He plied his work, and Lucy took The lantern in her hand. Not blither is the mountain -roe : With many a wanton stroke Her feet disperse the powdery snow. That rises up like smoke. LESSONS OF LIFF. 149 The storm came on before its time : She wandered up and down, And many a hill did Lucy climb, But never reached the town. The wretched parents all that night Went shouting far and wide, But there was neither sound nor sight To serve them for a guide. At daybreak on a hill they stood That overlooked the moor, And thence they saw the bridge of wood A furlong from their door. They wept, and, turning homeward, cried, " In heaven we all shall meet," When in the snow the mother spied The print of Lucy's feet. Half breathless, from the steep hill's edge They tracked the footmarks small, And through the broken hawthorn hedge, And by the long stone wall ; And then an open field they crossed :• The marks were still the same ; They tracked them on, nor ever lost, And to the bridge they came. They followed from the snowy bank Those footmarks, one by one, Into the middle of the plank, And further there were none. Yet some maintain that to this day She is a living child — That you may see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome wild. O'er rough and smooth she trips along, And never looks behind, And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind. William Wordsworth. THE ORPHAN BOY. Stay, lady, stay, for mercy's sake, And hear a helpless orphan's tale , Ah, sure my looks must pity wake — Tis want that makes my cheek so pale ; Yet I was once a mother's pride, And my brave father's hope and joy ; But in the Nile's proud fight he died, And I am now an orphan boy ! Poor, foolish child ! how pleased was I, When news of Nelson's victory came, Along the crowded streets to fly, To see the lighted windows flame ! To force me home my mother sought — She could not bear to hear my joy. For with my father's life 'twas bought — And made me a poor orphan boy ! The people's shouts were long and loud ; My mother, shuddering, closed 1 cl- ears ; "Rejoice! Rejoice!" still cried the crowd, — My mother answered with her tears. " Oh why do tears steal down your cheek," Cried I, " while others shout for JO} ,?» She kissed me, and in accents weak She called me her poor orphan boy ! 150 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. " What is an orphan hoy ?" I said; When suddenly she gasped for breath, And her eyes closed ! I shrieked for aid, But ah ! her eyes were closed in death. My hardships since I will not tell ; But now, no more a parent's joy, Ah, lady, I have learned too well What 'tis to be an orphan boy ! Oh, were I by your bounty fed ! — Kay, gentle lady, do not chide ; Trust me, I mean to earn my bread ; The sailor's orphan boy has pride. Lady, you weep ; what is't you say ? You'll give me clothing, food, cm- ploy ? Look down, dear parents ! look and see Your happy, happy orphan boy ! Amelia Onii. THE BLIND BOY. It was a blessed summer day, The flowers bloomed — the air was mild, The little birds poured forth their lay, And everything in nature smiled. In pleasant thought I wandered on Beneath the deep wood's ample shade, Till suddenly I came upon Two children who had thither strayed. Just at an aged birch tree's foot A little boy and girl reclined ; His hand in hers she kindly put, And then I saw the boy was blind.- The children knew not I was near — A tree concealed me from their view — But all they said I well could hear, And I could see all they might do. " Dear Mary," said the poor blind boy, " That little bird sings very long ; Say, do you see him in his joy ? And is he pretty as his song ?" " Yes, Edward, yes," replied the maid, " I see the bird on yonder tree." The poor boy sighed, and gently said, " Sister, I wish that I could see ! " The flowers, you say, are very fair, And bright green leaves are on the trees, And pretty birds are singing there — How beautiful for one who sees ! " Yet I the fragrant flower can smell, And I can feel the green leaf's shade, And I can hear the notes that swell From those dear birds that God has made. " So, sister, God to me is kind, Though sight, alas ! He has not given ; But tell me, are there any blind Among the children up in heaven?" " No, dearest Edward ; there all see ; But why ask me a thing so odd ?" " Oh, Mary, He's so good to me, I thought I'd like to look at God." Ere long disease his hand had laid On that dear boy, so meek and mild; LESSONS OF LIFE. 151 His widowed mother wept, and prayed I Now, what the bright colors of mu&ic That God would spare her sightless may be child. j Will any one tell me, for I cannot see? He felt her warm tears on his face, And said, " Oh never weep for me ; I'm going to a bright, bright place, Where Mary says I God shall see. " And you'll be there, dear Mary, too ; But, mother, when you get up there, Tell Edward, mother, that 'tis you — You know I never saw you here." He spoke no more, but sweetly smiled Until the final blow was given, When God took up the poor blind child, And opened first his eyes in heaven. Rkv. Dr. Hawks. THE BLIND BOY. Oh, tell me the form of the soft sum- mer air, That tosses so gently the curls of my hair ; It breathes on my lips and it fans my warm cheek, But gives me no answer, though often I speak. I feel it play o'er me refreshing and light, And yet cannot touch it, because I've no sight. And music, what is it? and where does it dwell ? I sink and I mount with its cadence and swell, While thrilled to my heart with the deep-going strain, Till pleasure excessive seems turning to pain. The odors of flowers that are hovering nigh, What are they ? on what kind of wings do they fly ? Are these shining angels, who come to delight A poor little child that knows nothing of sight ? The face of the sun never comes to my mind— Oh, tell me what light is, because I am blind. Hannah F. Gould. THE BLIND BOY. Oh, say what is that thing called Light Which I must ne'er enjoy ; What are the blessings of the sight ? Oh, tell 3 T our j)oor blind boy. You talk of wondrous things you see ; You say the sun shines bright ; I feel him warm, but how can he Or make it day or night ? My day or night myself I make Whene'er I sleep or play ; And could I ever keep awake, With me 'twere always day. With heavy sighs I often hear You mourn my hapless woe ; But sure with patience I can bear A loss I ne'er can know. Then let not what I cannot have My cheer of mind destroy; Whilst thus I sing I am a king, Although a poor blind boy. C. ClBBES. 152 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. THE BLIND MAN. Dear children, see, I'm old and poor, I grope my way from door to door. You, happy children, cannot know How dark the path through which I go. But Bible words have comfort strong; They're ringing round me all day long — They tell me of a brighter place, Where I shall see my Maker's face. THE SAILOR BOY AND HIS MOTHER. Hark to the thunder ! List to the rain ! See the fierce lightning Flashing again ! See, at yon window, Gleaming afar, Shines a pale taper, Like a lone star ! There a lone mother, Bending the knee, Prays for her darling, Far, far at sea. God in heaven, Hear Thou her prayer ! Still Thou the tempest, Calm her despair ! Out on the waters, Where the winds roar, Tossed by the billows, Miles from the shore, In his rude hammock, Rocked by the deep, Lies a young sailor Buried in sleep. Sweetly he's smiling, Dreaming of home, Far in green England, Over the foam. She who is praying Stands by him now, Parting his tresses, Kissing his brow. God send him safely To her again ! God grant her watching . Be not in vain ! Matthias Barr. THE SAILOR BOY'S GOSSIP. You say, dear mamma, it is good to be talking With those who will kindly endeavor to teach ; And I think I have learnt something while I was walking Along with the sailor boy down on the beach. He told me of lands where he soon will be going, Where humming-birds scarcely are bigger than bees — Where the mace and the nutmeg to- gether are growing, And cinnamon formeth the bark of the trees. He told me that islands far out in the ocean Are mountains of coral, that insects have made ; And I freely confess I had hardly a notion That insects could work in the way that he said. LESSONS OF LIFE. 153 He spoke of wide deserts where sand- clouds are flying, No shade for the brow, and no grass for the feet ; Where camels and travellers often lie dying, Gasping for water and scorching with heat. He told me of places away in the East Where topaz and ruby and sapphire are found, Where you never are safe from the snake and the beast, For the serpent and tiger and jackal abound. He declared he had gazed on a very high mountain Spurting out volumes of sulphur and smoke, That burns day and night like a fiery fountain, Pouring forth ashes that blacken and choke. I thought our own river a very great stream, With its water so fresh and its cur- rents so strong, But how tiny our largest of rivers must seem To those he has sailed on, three thousand miles long ! He spoke, dear mamma, of so many strange places, With people who neither have cities nor kings, Who wear skins on their shoulders and paint on their faces, And live on the spoils which their huntino-rield brings. 154 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. He told me of waters whose wonder- But men must work, and women must ful falling . weep, Sends clouds of white foam and a, , Though storms be sudden, and waters thundering sound, deep, With a voice that for ever is loud and And the harbor bar be moaning. appalling, i . . . • j V1 t c Three corpses lay out on the sinning And roars like a lion lor many i i i sands leagues round. . . In the morning gleam as the tide went down, Oh, I long, dear mamma, to learn . -,,, . , . ' , ' And the women are weeping and wring- more of these stories • +i • i i mg their hands From books that are written to please and to teach, For those who will never come home to the town ; For men must work, and women must weep, And I wish I could see half the cu- rious glories The sailor boy told me of, down on . -, ,, , , , ' ! And the sooner its over, the sooner to sleep, And good-bye to the bar and its moaning. Eliza Cook. Charles Kingsley. THE SAILOR BOY'S DREAM. In slumbers of midnight the sailor boy lay, His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind ; But, watchworn and weary, his cares flew away, And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind. THE THREE FISHERS. Three fishers went sailing away to the west — Away to the west as the sun went down ; Each thought on the woman who loved him the best, And the children stood watching them out of the town ; For men must work, and women must weep, And there's little to earn and many to He dreamed of his home, of his dear keep native bowers, Though the harbor bar be moaning, j And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn, Three wives sat up in the lighthouse | While Memory stood sideways, half I covered with flowers, And they trimmed the lamps as the ! And restored ever * v rose ' but Secre " sun went down; ted its thorn. They looked at the squall, and they | Then Fancy her magical pinions spread looked at the shower, wide, And the night-rack came rolling up j And bade the young dreamer in ec- ragged and brown ; stasy rise ; LESSONS OF LIFE. 155 Now far, far behind him the green waters glide, And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes. The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch, And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall ; All trembling with transport, he raises the latch, And the voices of loved ones reply to his call. A father bends o'er him with looks of delight, His cheek is impearled with a moth- er's warm tear, And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear. The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast; Joy quickens his pulses — his hard- ships seem o'er ; And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest — " Kind Fate, thou hast blest me ! I ask for no more." Ah ! what is that flame which now bursts on his eye ? Ah ! what is that sound which now 'larums his ear? 'Tis the lightning's red glare, painting hell on the sky, 'Tis the crashing of thunders, the groan of the sphere ! He springs from his hammock, he flies to the deck — Amazement confronts him with im- ages dire ; 156 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck — The masts fly in splinters — the shrouds are on fire ! Like mountains the billows tremen- dously swell ; In vain the lost wretch calls on Mercy to save ; Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell ; And the death-angel flaps his broad wing o'er the wave ! sailor boy ! woe to thy dream of delight ! In darkness dissolves the gay frost- work of bliss ; Where now is the picture that Fancy touched bright, Thy parents' soft pressure and love's honeyed kiss ? O sailor boy ! sailor boy ! never again Shall home, love, or kindred thy wishes repay ; Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main, Full many a fathom, thy frame shall decay. No tomb shall e'er plead to remem- brance for thee, Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge ; But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be, And winds, in the midnight of win- ter, thy dirge ! On beds of green sea-flowers thy limbs shall be laid, Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow; Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made, And every part suit to thy mansion below. Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away, And still the vast waters above thee shall roll ; Earth loses thy pattern for ever and aye ! O sailor boy ! sailor boy ! peace to thy soul ! William Dimond. THE WIVES OF BR1XHAM. You see the gentle water, How silently it floats, How cautiously, how steadily, It moves the sleepy boats ; And all the little loops of pearl It strews along the sand Steal out as leisurely as leaves W hen summer is at hand. But you know it can be angry, And thunder from its rest, When the stormy taunts of winter Are flying at its breast ; And if you like to listen, And draw your chairs around, I'll tell you what it did one night When you were sleeping sound. The merry boats of Brixham Go out to search the seas ; A staunch and sturdy fleet are they. Who love a swinging breeze ; And along the woods of Devon, And the silver cliffs of Wales, You may see, when summer evenings fall, The light upon their sails. LESSONS OF LIFE. 157 But when the year grows darker, And gray winds hunt the foam, They go hack to little Brixham And ply their toils at home; And so it chanced, one winter's day, When the wind began to roar, That all the men were out at sea, And all the wives on shore. Then, as the storm grew fiercer, The women's cheeks grew white; It was fiercer through the twilight, And fiercest in the night ; The strong clouds set themselves like ice, With not a star to melt, And the blackness of the darkness Was something to be felt. The wind, like an assassin, Went on its secret way, And struck a hundred barks adrift To reel about the bay ; They meet ! they crash ! — God keep the men ! God give a moment's light ! There is nothing but the tumult, And the tempest, and the night. The men on shore were trembling, They grieved for what they knew ; What do you think the women did ? Love taught them what to do : Up spoke a wife : " We've beds at home — We'll burn them for a light ; Give us the men and the bare ground — We want no more to-night." They took the grandame's blanket, Who shivered and bade them go ; They took the baby's pillow, Who could not say them no ; And they heaped a great fire on the pier, And knew not all the while If they were heaping a bonfire, •Or only a funeral pile. And, fed with precious food, the flame Shone bravely on the black, Till a cry went through the people, " A boat is coming back !" Staggering dimly through the fog, They see, and then they doubt, But when the first prow strikes the pier, Cannot you hear them shout ? Then all along the breadth of flame Dark figures shrieked and ran, With, " Child, here comes your father !"' Or " Wife, is this your man ?" And faint feet touch the welcome stone And stay a little while, And kisses drop from frozen lips, Too tired to speak or smile. So, one by one, they struggled in, All that the sea would spare ; We will not reckon through our tears The names that were not there ; But some went home without a bed, When all the tale was told, Who were too cold with sorrow To know the night was cold. And this is what the men must do Who work in wind and foam, And this is what the women bear Who watch for them at home : So, when you see a Brixham boat Go out to meet the gales, Think of the love that travels Like light upon her sails ! M. B. S. 158 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. THE LITTLE SCHOONER. They built a little ship By the rough seaside ; They laid her keel in hope, And they launched it in pride. Five-and-twenty workingmen, All day and half night, Were hammering and clamoring To make her all right. Lightly was she rigged, And strongly was she sparred ; She had bowlines and buntlines, Topping-lift and yard ; They swung round her boom When the wind blew piff-paff, For she was a little schooner, And she sailed with a gaff. The men who were making her Talked of her at home : " A smarter little creature Shall never breast the foam ; She is not built for battle, Nor for any dark deed, But for safety and money, And comfort and speed." She made two trips In the smooth summer days ; Back she came merrily — All sang her praise. Once she brought figs From a land of good heat ; Once she brought Memel-wood, Strong, hard, and sweet. She made three trips When winter gales were strong ; Back she came gallantly, — Not a spar wrong ; She could scud before the wind With just a sail set, Or beat up and go about, With not a foot wet. LESSONS OF LIFE. 159 It was in September That she went out anew, As fresh as a little daisy Brimful of morning dew; Brushed, painted, holystoned, Tarred, trimmed, and laced, Like a beauty in a ball-dress With a sash around her waist. She went out of harbor With a light breeze and fair, And every shred of canvas spread Upon the soft blue air ; But when she passed the Needles It was blowing half a gale, And she took in a double reef, And hauled down half her sail. Just as the sun was sinking A cloud sprang from the east, Like an angry whiff of darkness Before the daylight ceased ; It went rushing up the sky, And a black wind rushed below, And struck the little schooner As a man strikes his foe. She fought like a hero — Alas ! how could she fight In the clutch of the hurling demons Who roar in the seas by night ? White stars, wild stars, With driving clouds before, You saw her driven like a cloud Upon a cruel lee-shore ! There were ten souls on board of her ; The crew, I ween, were eight, And the ninth was a woman, And she was the skipper's mate — The ninth was a woman, With a prayer upon her lip ; And the tenth was a little cabin-boy, And this was his first trip. As they drove upon the rocks Before the} r settled down, They could see the happy windows Along a shining town ; The nicker of the firelight Came through the swirls of foam, And they cried to one another, " Oh ! thus it looks at home f" By those bright hearths they guessed not, Closing their peaceful day, How ten poor souls were drowning Not half a mile away ! But there were some hardy fellows Keeping a bright lookout, Who had manned the life-boat long ago, And launched her with a shout. Out in the darkness, clinging To broken mast and rope, The ten were searching sea and sky With eyes that had no hope ; And the moon made awful ridges Of black against the clear, And the life-boat over the ridges Came leaping like a deer ! Up spoke the life-boat coxswain, When they came near the wreck : | " Who casts his life in this fierce sea To carry a rope on deck ?" The men were all so willing That they chose the first who spoke. And he plunged into the breathless pause Before a huge wave broke. And the wave sprang like a panther And caught him by the neck, And tossed him, as you toss a ball, i Upon the shuddering wreck ; 160 THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY Faint eager hands upheld him Till he had got his breath, And could make fast the blessed rope — A bridge to life from death. There's many a precious cargo Comes safe to British sands, There's many a gallant fighting-man About our British lands ; But I think our truest heroes Are men with names unknown, Who save a priceless freight of lives, And never heed their own. Now bear those weary wanderers From the dark shores below, And warm them at the hearths whose light They watched an hour ago ; And call the fishers and sailors Gravely to see, and say, " Our turn may come to-morrow, As theirs has come to-day." Among the fishers and sailors There came a sunburnt man, And he stared at the little cabin-boy Lying so white and wan — Lying so white and speechless, They thought his days were done — And the sailor stared, and wrung his hands, And cried, " It is my son ! " Oh ! I was bound for Plymouth, And he for the coast of Spain, But little I thought when we set sail How we should meet again. And who will tell his mother How he is come ashore ? For, though I loved him very much, I know she loved him more. " I'll kiss his lips full genth T Before they are quite cold, And she shall take that kiss from mine Ere this moon waxes old." " Father !" the pale lips murmur, " Is mother with you here?" The answer to these welcome words • Was a sob, and then a cheer. The captain spoke at midnight, When he saw the tossing sky, " Alas ! a woeful night is this, And a woeful man am I. Glad am I for my wife," he said, " And glad for my true men ; But alas for my little schooner ! She'll never sail again !" Now, all you life-boat heroes Who reckon your lives so cheap, You banish tears from other homes — Make not your own to weep ! LESSONS OF LIFE. 161 You cannot die like lions, For all you are so strong ; While you are saving other lives, God keep your own from wrong ! By one of the Authors