i?**.*? ... HBBHHBBWBr JJUUOC IHHH ItTTTTI '■ MM — '■»'■'■ — i 8 8 8S « w8BB»Baa km «■■■ 888888888888 HBfmfffffiffHHn i Mil lW l W il lilllil n i li ll t i l i Mir ifflBHBfTi -# vt ,cX> W THE ^ Talker wm.*w company. as si HYMNS FOR MOTHERS AND CHILDREN. COMPILED BY THE AUTHOR OF "VIOLET," "DAISY," Ac, SECOND EDITION. BOSTON: WALKER, WISE, AND COMPANY, 245 Washington Street. 1861. Entered according to Act of Congress, In the year 1860, by WALKER, WISE, AND COMPANY, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. University Press, Cambridge : Stereotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co. PREFACE Since the publication of the Hymns of the Ages, its com- pilers have frequently been urged to prepare a volume of like character for children. One of them has accordingly given the leisure of several years to the present work; her plan being, to collect devout, entertaining, and suggestive poetry, — morning and evening hymns, and those calculated to stimulate the imagination, re- fine the taste, and train the child's heart to become strong, humane, and brave, as well as keep it gentle, reverent, and pure. Finding a sad lack of material, she offers the volume now with diffidence, hoping that at least its deficiencies may draw some true poet's- attention to the wants of a these little ones," that they may no longer be offered thin and coarse dilutions IV PREFACE. of morality, but hymns delicate, beautiful, and rare, as the souls which wait to receive them. Meantime, such as her work is, she would cordially thank the many mothers who have encouraged and assisted in its preparation, and the many little Lilies, Freddies, and Kitties who have lent their favorite volumes for inspection, and oft- times taught the merit of the hymns by their loving and tender recital; — for there are no Athenaeum libraries of children's books, and this has literally been gathered " out of the mouth of babes." c. s. w. Roxbury, October 16, 1860. CONTENTS. PART I. CHILDREN. PAG I The Baby Providence Journal. . 3 My Baby W. C. Bennett. ... 4 The Babie 6 A Cradle Song Rev. W. Calvert. . . 7 Cradle Song Songs from the German. 8 Lullaby ...» W. C. Bennett. ... 9 A Rocking Hymn George Wither. ... 10 The Little Ones in* Bed 11 The Patter of Little Feet 11 To my Godchild, Alice Miss Midoch 14 Peasant Children Mary Eoicitt 15 The Children's Prayer Mary Howiti 17 My Little Daughter's Shoes C. J. Sprague. ... 19 Baby's Shoes TV. C Bennett. ... 21 An Angel ln the House Ltigh Hunt 22 PART II. FOR YOUNG CHILDREN. Creep before you Walk James BaUantynt. . . 27 The Turtle-Doves Aunt Ejjie's Rltymes. . 28 VI CONTENTS. What a Child has Songs from the German. . 30 What I love Mrs. Gilman 30 The Little Angel Melodies for Childhood. . 31 Little Rain-Drops Aunt Effie's Rhymes. . . 31 The Darling Little Girl Melodies for Childhood. . 33 Is it You? Mrs. Goodwin 33 The Robin-Redbreasts Aunt Effie's Rhymes. . . 34 Good Morning 35 I avill be Good To-day 37 God made me Hymns for Young Children. 37 Little Dandelion 38 Lily of the Valley 40 The Journey Choice Poems 41 Lady Moon R. M. Milnes 41 Lady Bird Choice Poems 42 The Watch-Dog Alexander Smart. ... 43 Little Children, love one another * 44 Being Kind and Affectionate 45 Not Ready for School Mrs. Gilman 46 Busy Little Husbandman 48 Kindness to Servants Alexander Smart. ... 49 The Little Tree that wanted to have other Leaves Ruckert 50 The Apple-Tree Jane Taylor 53 Who Stole the Bird's-Nest Choice Poems 54 The Beetle Mrs. Gilman 58 Give as you 'd take Alexander Rodger. ... 59 The Bird's Funeral Songs from the German. . 60 My Father Ann Taylor 61 My Mother Ann Taylor 62 The Doctor Alexander Smart. ... 64 The Hand-Post Ann Taylor 65 CONTENTS. Vll PART III. NATURE. The Book of Nature Keble 71 The Beggar J. R. Lowell 72 Guess what I have heard Mrs. Follen 74 What they are doing Rhymes for Little Ones. 76 The Gladness of Nature Bryant 78 What I would be Songs from the German. 79 The Song of the Grass John S. Dwight. ... 79 Birds Mary Howitt 81 Summer Woods Mary Howitt 83 Little Bell T. Westwood. .... 86 Kindness to Animals Gisborn 89 The Oak-Tree Mary Howitt 90 Sunshine Mary Howitt 92 Robert of Lincoln W. C. Bryant. ... 94 Thankfulness 96 The Wind Mary Lamb 96 The Kitten and the Falling Leaves. . Wordsworth 98 The Coral Branch 99 Jack Frost Choice Poems. . . . 100 It Snows H. F. Gould. .... 103 Loving and Liking Mary Lamb 105 The Barefoot Boy J. G. Whittier. ... 107 Tired of Play N. P. WiUis 110 Not to myself alone Ill Vlll CONTENTS. PART IV. RELIGIOUS INSTRUCTION. I. The Heavenly Father. The Mother's Prayer Mrs. Voice 117 Teaching Little Children .... Keble 118 The Pure in Heart Keble 119 The Child and the Angels . . . Charles Swain 120 God our Father Sunday- School Hymns. . . . 121 God is near Hymns for Little Ones at Home. 122 Fear not 122 God sees me Hymns for Young Children. . 123 God loves me Hymns for Young Children. . 125 God's Care Montgomery 125 God is good Mrs. Follen 126 Who takes Care Songs for Sunday Schools. . . 12 S Flowers Mary Howitt 129 Children in Church Sunday-School Hymns. . . . 130 Seeking God T. Gray, Jr 131 The best Offering Jane Taylor 132 The Golden Rule W. Roscoe 133 The Throne 134 Hymn Mrs. Gilman 135 " Our Father who art in Heaven " Jane Taylor 13G II. The Good Shepherd. Swedish Mother's Hymn .... Frederika Bremer 137 "Come unto me" Hymns for Infant Minds. . . 138 The Infant Jesus 138 The Children's Desire 140 Hymn Melodies for Childhood. : . 140 CONTENTS. ix Christ's Love Sunday-School Hymn-Booh. 141 Come to me Fotten 142 Let them come A. S. 143 Forgiveness Jane Taylor 144 Jesus Furness 145 " Give me thy Heart " Sunday-School Hymns. . . 146 Shepherd of Israel Sacred Offering 147 For A Christian Child Louis II. von Haym. . . lib Christmas Hymns for Young Children. 149 Jesus *nd the Dove Maria Lowell. 151 New Year's Eve Andersen 154 An Eastern Legend Alger's Eastern Poetry. . 162 Love to Jesus Jane Taylor 163 III. Morning and Evening Hymns. The Guardian Angel F. W. Faber 164 Birds and Angels Songs from the German. . 166 Child's Song Mrs. Follen 166 The Angels 167 I want to be an Angel Melodies for Childhood. . 169 A Child's Prayer 170 "Bear each other's Burdens" 171 The Lord's Prayer Sacred Offering 171 The Sun . German Songs 172 Morning Song German Songs 172 Prayer Melodies for Childhood. . 173 Morning Hymn Bishop Kenn 174 Morning Hymn Rev. J. Pierpont 175 Evening Hymn Rev. J. Pierpont 175 Good Night Mrs. Fvlkn 176 The Good Boy's Hymn on going to Bed Mrs. Follen 177 Evening Hymn 177 X CONTENTS. EVENING Hymn M. L. Duncan. ... 178 Evening Hymn 178 Evening Hymn Mrs. Follen 179 Evening Hymn Mrs. Follen 180 Evening Hymn Bishop Kenn 181 An Evening Prayer Songs from the German. 182 IV. Miscellaneous. Wisdom .183 The Holy Child Eeber 184 Immortal Beauty George Herbert. . . . 184 Sunday Evening Choice Poems 185 The Ten Commandments 187 The Deluge 187 The Ark and Dove Mrs. Sigourney. ... 189 The Story of Moses 189 David in the Cave of Adullam . . . Charles Lamb 191 Herodias's Daughter Charles Lamb. . . . • 193 The Spartan Boy Mary Lamb 195 Abou-Ben-Adhem Leigh Hunt 196 The Heart a Bell Songs from the German. 197 Profanity Sunday-School Hymns. . 198 Conscience Hymns for Infant Minds. 199 The Unseen Adelaide Taylor. . . . 201 Eternity Jane Taylor 202 Immortality Songs from the German. 202 The Stars Hymns for Infant Minds. 204 A Christmas Hymn Alfred Dornett. ... 205 Forest Scene in the Days of Wickliff . Mary Howitt 207 CONTEXTS. PART V. OLDER CHILDREN. The Spring-Time uf Life George Donald 217 The Purpose of Life J. G. Whittier 219 The Building of the House .... Charles Mackay. . . . 220 The Sculptor Boy Bishop Doane 223 A Psalm of Life Longfellow 224 Labor Mrs. F. S. Osgood. . . True Happiness SirH. Wotton 227 Freedom J. R. Lowell S2fl The Heritage J. R. Lowell 229 Pride 231 The Nobly Born Disciples' Hymn-Buvk. . . _ The Pebble axd the Acorn* E. F. Gould. 233 Little Things Melodies for CkBdkood. . 235 The King's Example Alger's Oriental P . . _ : Each can do Something Southern Churchman. . Every Little helps Choice Poems 23S Little Deeds 240 The Mountain Torrent Charles Mackay. . . . 241 Who is 3iy Neighbor? Peabody 242 The Little Match-Sellers Choice Poems 243 Forgive thy Brother The Beggar's Revenge Alger's Oriental Poetry. . 245 Speak Gently 246 No George Bennett. . . . The Forsaken Sacred Offering. . . The Fairy's Gift 249 . Don't Fret Thankfulness Xll CONTENTS. Hope J. G. Whitlier 252 Two Ways Charles Swain 253 Never kail at the World Charles Swain 253 In Sickness Rev. W. Calvert. . . . 254 The Cripple Taylor 255 The Boy and the Flower Andersen 257 Cceur de Lion at the Bier of his Father Mi-s. Hemans 259 The Old Folks' Room 262 Good from Evil J. G. Whittitr 264 Beauty and Duty Lucy Hooper 265 Excelsior • Longfellow 265 A Farewell Charles Kingsley. ... 267 PART VI. THE END. Death of the Newly Baptized . . . Keble 271 Little Bessie . . Melodies for Childhood. . 272 The lost Little One Rev. W. Calvert. . . . 274 Resignation Longfellow 276 The Alpine Shepherd Maria Lowell 279 Going Home 281 " Of such is the Kingdom of Heaven " Mrs. Gilman 283 Little Pilgrims J- Ldmeston 284 Children's Praises 284 The Sick Child Barry Cornwall. . . . 286 A Mother's Recompense ...... Rev. W. Calvert. ... 287 CHILDREN. Come to me, ye children ! For I hear you at your play, And the questions that perplexed me Have vanished quite away. Ye open the eastern windows, That look towards the sun, Where thoughts are singing swallows And the brooks of morning run. In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine, In your thoughts the brooklet's flow, But in mine is the wind of Autumn And the first fall of the snow. Ah ! what would the world be to us If the children were no more ? We should dread the desert behind us Worse than the dark before. XIV CHILDREN. What the leaves are to the forest, With light and air for food, Ere their sweet and tender juices Have been hardened into wood, — That to the world are children ; Through them it feels the glow Of a brighter and sunnier climate Than reaches the trunks below. Come to me, O ye children ! And whisper in my ear What the birds and the winds are sinking In your sunny atmosphere. For what are all our contrivings, And the wisdom of our books, When compared with your caresses, And the gladness of your looks ? Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said ; For ye are living poems, And all the rest are dead. Longfellow. PART I. CHILDREN. THE BABY. Another little wave Upon the sea of life ; Another soul to save Amid its toil and strife. MY BABY. Two rnore 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. Providence Journal. MY BABY. 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 sadness, Happy smiles and wailing cries, Crows and laughs and tearful eyes, Lights and shadows, swifter born Than on wind-swept autumn corn, MY BABY. Ever some new tiny notion, Making every limb all motion, Catchings up of legs and arms, Throwings back and small alarms, Clutching fingers, — straitening jerks, Twining feet whose each toe works, Kickings up and straining risings, Mother's ever-new surprising. Hands all wants and looks all wonder 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 ; 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 dreamings, Till from sleep we see thee breaking, And we ? d always have thee waking ; Wealth for which we know no measure, Pleasure high above all pleasure, A ROCKING HYMN. 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. W. C. Bennett. THE BABIE. Nae shoon to hide her tiny tae, Nae stocking on her feet ; Her supple ankles white as snaw, Or early blossoms sweet. Her simple dress of sprinkled pink, Her double dimpled chin, Her puckered lip and baumy mow, With na one tooth between. Her een, sae like her mither's een, Two gentle liquid things ; Her face is like an angel's face, — We 're glad she has no wings. She is the budding o' our love A giftie God gie'd us ; We munna luve the gift ow'r weel, 'T wad be nae blessing thus. A CRADLE SONG. A CRADLE SONG. Soft be the hour of thy sleeping, Little one mine, dear little one mine ; Safe, gentle lamb, be thy keeping, In the arms of the Shepherd divine ; Fond as thy mother's love, Yet there is One above Loves thee still dearer, And — when for thee she prays Grace, peace, and happy days — Bends down to hear her. Glad be the hour of thy waking, Little one mine, dear little one mine, God grant that the pangs of heart-breaking Never visit that bosom of thine. God grant thy stream of life, Unvexed by guilt and strife, Gently may flow ; And when the time shall come, To thy eternal home 'T is thine to go, Calm be the hour of thy dying, Loved one of mine, dear loved one of mine ; Untrammelled thy spirit, when flying To the land where the holy ones shine. Rev. W. Calvert. CRADLE SONG. CRADLE SONG, Sleep, baby, sleep ! Thy father watches the sheep, Thy mother is shaking the dream-land tree, And down falls a little dream on thee ; Sleep, baby, sleep ! Sleep, baby, sleep ! The large stars are the sheep, The little stars are the lambs, I guess, The fair moon is the shepherdess ; Sleep, baby, sleep ! Sleep, baby, sleep ! Our 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 ! I '11 buy for thee a sheep, With a golden bell so fine to see, And it shall frisk and play with thee, Sleep, baby, sleep ! Sleep, baby, sleep ! And cry not like a sheep ; LULLABY. Else will the sheep-dog bark and whine, And bite this naughty child of mine. Sleep, baby, sleep ! Sleep, baby, sleep ! Away ! and tend the sheep. Away, thou black dog, fierce and wild, And do not wake my little child ! Sleep, baby, sleep ! Song from the German. LULLABY. Lullaby ! lullaby ! Baby, hush that little cry ! Light is dying, Bats are flying — Bees to-day with work have done ; So, till comes the morrow's sun, Let sleep kiss those bright eyes dry ! Lullaby ! lullaby' ! Lullaby ! lullaby ! Hushed are all things far and nigh ; Flowers are closing, Birds reposing, All sweet things with life have done. Sweet, till dawns the morning sun, Sleep then kiss those blue eyes drv ! Lullaby ! lullaby ! Wm. C. Bennett. 10 A ROCKING HYMN. A ROCKING HYMN. Sweet baby, sleep ; what ails my dear ; What ails my darling thus to cry ? Be still, my child, and lend thine ear, To hear me sing thy lullaby. My pretty lamb, forbear to weep ; Be still, my dear ; sweet baby, sleep. Thou blessed soul, what canst thou fear ? What thing to thee can mischief do ? Thy God is now thy Father dear, His holy Church thy mother too. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep ; Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep. Whilst thus thy lullaby I sing, For thee great blessings ripening be ; Thine eldest brother is a King, And hath a kingdom bought for thee. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep ; Be still my babe ; sweet baby, sleep. Sweet baby, sleep, and nothing fear, For whosoever thee offends, By thy Protector threatened are, And God ! and angels are thy friends. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep ; Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep. George Wither. THE PATTER OF LITTLE FEET. 11 THE LITTLE ONES IN BED. A row of little faces in the bed ; A row of little hands upon the spread ; A row of little roguish eyes all closed ; A row of little naked feet exposed. A gentle mother leads them in their praise, Teaching their feet to tread in heavenly ways, And takes this lull in childhood's tiny tide, The little errors of the day to chide. Then tumbling headlong into waiting beds, Beneath the sheets they hide their timid heads ; Till slumber steals away their idle fears, And like a peeping bud each face appears. All dressed like angels in their gowns of white, They 're wafted to the skies in dreams of night ; And heaven will sparkle in their eyes at morn, And stolen graces all their ways adorn. THE PATTER OF LITTLE FEET. Up with the sun in the morning, Away to the garden he hies, To see if the sleepy blossoms Have begun to open their eyes. 12 THE PATTER OF LITTLE FEET. Running a race with the wind, With a step as light and fleet, Under my window I hear The patter of little feet. Now to the brook he wanders In swift and noiseless flight, Splashing the sparkling ripples Like a fairy water-sprite. No sand under fabled river Has gleams like his golden hair, No pearly sea-shell is fairer Than his slender ankles bare ; Nor the rosiest stem of coral That blushes in ocean's bed Is sweet as the flush that follows Our darling's airy tread. From a broad window my neighbor Looks down on our little cot, And watches the " poor man's blessing " I cannot envy his lot. He has pictures, books, and music, Bright fountains, and noble trees, Flowers that blossom in roses, Birds from beyond the seas ; But never does childish laughter His homeward footsteps greet, His stately halls ne'er echo To the tread of innocent feet. THE PATTER OF LITTLE FEET. lo This child is our " speaking picture," A birdling that chatters and sings, Sometimes a sleeping cherub — (Our other one has wings.) His heart is a charmed casket, Full of all that 5 s cunning and sweet, And no harp-strings hold such music As follows his twinkling feet. When the glory of sunset opens The highway by angels trod, And seems to unbar the city Whose builder and maker is God, Close to the crystal portal, I see by the gates of pearl. The eyes of our other angel. — A twin-born little girl. And I ask to be taught and directed To guide his footsteps aright, So that I be accounted worthy To walk in sandals of light. And hear amid songs of welcome From messengers trusty and fleet. On the starry floor of heaven, The patter of little feet. 14 TO MY GODCHILD, ALICE. TO MY GODCHILD, ALICE. Alice, Alice, little Alice My new christened baby Alice, Can there ever rhymes be found To express my wishes for thee In a silvery flowing, worthy Of that silver sound ? Bonnie Alice, Lady Alice, Sure, this sweetest name must be A true omen to thee, Alice, Of a life's long melody. Alice, Alice, little Alice, May'st thou prove a golden chalice, Filled with holiness like wine ; With rich blessings running o'er, Yet replenished evermore From a fount Divine : Alice, Alice, little Alice, When this future comes to thee, In thy young life's brimming chalice Keep some drops of balm for me ! Alice, Alice, little Alice, Mayst thou grow a goodly palace, Fitly framed from roof to floors, Pure unto the inmost centre, While high thoughts like angels enter PEASANT CHILDREN. 15 At the open doors : Alice, Alice, little Alice, When this beauteous sight I see, In thy woman-heart's wide palace Keep one nook of lore for me. Alice, Alice, little Alice, — Sure the verse halts out of malice To the thoughts it feebly bears, And thy name's soft echoes, ranging From quaint rhyme to rhyme, are changing Into silent prayers. God be with thee, little Alice, Of His bounteousness may He Fill the chalice, build the palace, Here, unto eternity ! Miss Mulocii. PEASANT CHILDREN. Everywhere, everywhere, Like the butterfly's silver wings, That are seen by all in the summer air, TTe meet with these beautiful things ! And the low, sweet lisp of the baby child By a thousand hills is heard, And the voice of the young heart's laughter, wild As the voice of a singing bird ! 1G PEASANT CHILDREN. The cradle rocks in the peasant's cot, As it rocks in the noble's hall, And the brightest gift in the loftiest lot Is a gift that is given to all ; For the sunny light of childhood's eyes Is a boon like the common air, And like the sunshine of the skies, It falleth everywhere ! They tell us that old Earth no more By angel feet is trod, They bring not now as they brought of yore The oracles of God. 0, each of these young human flowers God's own high message bears, And we are walking all our hours With " angels unawares " ! By stifling street and breezy hill We meet their spirit mirth ; That such bright shapes should linger till They take the stains of earth ! 0, play not those a blessed part To whom the boon is given To leave their errand with the heart, And straight return to heaven ! Mary Howitt. THE CHILDREN'S PRAYER. IT THE CHILDREN'S PRAYER. Beautiful the children's faces ! Spite of all that mars and sears : To my inmost heart appealing ; Calling forth love's tenderest feeling : Steeping all my soul with tears. Eloquent the children's faces — Poverty's lean look, which saith, Save us ! save us ! woe surrounds us ; Little knowledge sore confounds us ; Life is but a lingering death. Give us light amid our darkness ; Let us know the good from ill ; Hate us not for all our blindness ; Love us, lead us, show us kindness, You can make us what you will. We are willing ; we are ready : We would learn if you would teach : We have hearts that yearn towards duty ; We have minds alive to beauty ; Souls that any height can reach. Raise us by your Christian knowledge : Consecrate to man our powers ; Let us take our proper station ; 2 18 THE CHILDREN'S PRAYER. We, the rising generation, Let us stamp the age as ours. We shall be what you will make us ; — Make us wise, and make us good : Make us strong in time of trial ; Teach us temperance, self-denial, Patience, kindness, fortitude ! Look into our childish faces ; See ye not our willing hearts ? Only love us, — only lead us ; Only let us know you need us, And we all will do our parts. We are thousands — many thousands ! Every day our ranks increase ; Let us march beneath your banner, We, the legion of true honor, Combating for love and peace ! Train us ! try us ! days slide onward, They can ne'er be ours again : Save us, save ! from our undoing ! Save from ignorance and ruin ; Make us worthy to be men ! Send us to our weeping mothers, Angel-stamped in heart and brow ; We may be our father's teachers : MY LITTLE DAUGHTER'S SHOES. 19 We may be the mightiest preachers, In the day that dawneth now ! Such the children's mute appealing ! All my inmost soul was* stirred ; And my heart was bowed with sadness, When a cry, like summer's gladness, Said, " The children's prayer is heard ! " Maky Howitt. MY LITTLE DAUGHTER'S SHOES Two little rough, worn, stubbed shoes, A plump, well-trodden pair, With striped stockings thrust within, Lie just beside my chajr. Of very homely fabric they, A hole is in each toe, They might have cost, when they were new, Some fifty cents or so. And yet this little worn-out pair Is richer far to me, Than all the jewelled sanaals are Of Eastern luxury. This mottled leather, cracked with use, Is satin in my sight, 20 MY LITTLE DAUGHTER'S SHOES. These little tarnished buttons shine With all a diamond's light. Search through the wardrobe of the world ! You shall not find me there So rarely made, so richly wrought, So glorious a pair. And why ? Because they tell of her, Now sound asleep above, Whose form is moving beauty, and Whose heart is beating love. They tell me of her merry laugh, Her rich, whole-hearted glee ; Her gentleness, her innocence, And infant purity. They tell me that her wavering steps Will long demand my aid ; For the old road of human life Is very roughly laid. High hills and swift descents abound, And, on so rude a way, Feet that can wear these coverings Would surely go astray. .Sweet little girl ! be mine the task Thy feeble steps to tend ! baby's shoes. 21 To be thy guide, thy counsellor, Thy playmate, and thy friend ! And when my steps shall faltering grow, And thine be firm and strong, Thy strength shall lead my tottering age In cheerful peace along ! C. J. Spragul. BABY'S SHOES. those little, those little blue shoes ! Those shoes that no little feet use ! the price were high That those shoes would buy. Those little blue unused sIiol - For they hold the small shape of feet That no more their mother's eyes meet, That, by God's good will, Years since grew still. And ceased from their totter so sweet ! And 0, since that baby slept, So hushed ! how the mother has kept, With a tearful pleasure, That little dear treasure. And o'er them thought and wept ! 22 AN ANGEL IN THE HOUSE. For they mind her forevermore Of a patter along the floor, And bine eyes she sees Look np from her knees, With the look that in life they wore. As they lie before her there, There babbles from chair to chair, A little sweet face That 's a gleam in the place, With its little gold curls of hair. Then 0, wonder not that her heart From all else would rather part Than those tiny blue shoes That no little feet use, And whose sight makes such fond tears start. W. C. Bennett. AN ANGEL IN THE HOUSE. How sweet it were, if without feeble fright, Or dying of the dreadful beauteous sight, An angel came to us. and we could bear To see him issue from the silent air At evening in our room, and bend on ours His divine eyes, and bring us from his bowers News of dear friends and children who have never Been dead indeed, — as we shall know forever. AN ANGEL IN THE HOUSE. 23 Alas ! we think not what we daily see ■ About our hearths, — angels, that are to be, Or may be if they will, and we prepare Their souls and ours to meet in happy air, — A child, a friend, a wife whose soft heart sings In unison with ours, breathing its future wings. Leigh Hunt. PART II FOR YOUNG CHILDREN CREEP BEFORE YOU WALK. FROM "WILLIE WIKKIE." 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 TURTLE-DOVES. Creep away, my bairnie, Your '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 Ballasts: >e. THE TURTLE-DOVES Very high in the pine-tree The little Turtle-dove Made a pretty little nursery, To please her little love. She was gentle, she was soft, And her large dark eye THE TURTLE-DOVES. 29 Often turned to her mate, Who was sitting close by. " Coo," said the Turtle-dove, " Coo," said she, " 0, I love thee/' said the Turtle-dove, "And I love Thee.'' In the long, shady branches Of the dark pine-tree, How happy were the doves, In their little nursery. The young turtle-doves Never quarrelled in the nest ; For they dearly loved each other, Though they loved their mother best. " Coo," said the little doves, " Coo," said she, And they played together kindly, In the dark pine-tree. Is this nursery of yours, Little sister, little brother, Like the Turtle-doves' nest, — Do you love one another ? Are you kind, are you gentle, As children ought to be ? Then the happiest of nests Is your own nursery. Aunt Effie's Rhymes. 30 WHAT I LOVE. WHAT A CHILD HAS. The snail, see, has a house ; A fur coat has the mouse ; The sparrow has its feathers brown ; The butterfly its wings of down. Now tell me, darling, what have you ? " 1 have clothes, and on each foot a shoe ; Father and mother, life and glee ; So good has God been unto me." Songs from the German WHAT I LOVE. I love my mother's gentle kiss, I love to join my brother's play, I love to walk with little sis, And view the shops and pictures gay. I love my toys and books to see, I love god-mother's silver cup, But the best thing of things to me, Is when my father takes me up. Father, when I 'm as tall as you, And you are small like little sis, I '11 lay you on my shoulder too, And let you feel how nice it is. Mrs. Gilman. LITTLE RAIN-DROPS. THE LITTLE ANGEL. Right into our house one day, A dear little angel came ; I ran to him, and said softly, •• Little angel, what is your name ? " He said not a word in answer, But smiled a beautiful smile, Then I said : " May I go home with you r Shall you go in a little while ': " But mamma said : " Dear little angel, Don't leave us ! 0, always stay ! We will all of us love you dearly ! .^weet angel ! 0, don't go away ! " • stayed, and he stayed, and we loved him, As we could not have loved another ; Do you want to know what his name is ? His name is — my little brother ! Melodies for Childhood. LITTLE EAIX-DJtOPS where do you come from. You little drops of rain, 32 LITTLE RAIN-DROPS. Pitter patter, pitter patter, Down the window pane ? They won't let me walk, And they won't let me play. And they won't let me go Out of doors at all to-day. They put away my playthings, Because I broke them all ; And then they locked up all my bricks, And took away my ball. Tell me, little rain-drops, Is that the way you play, — Pitter patter, pitter patter, — All the rainy day ? They say I 'm very naughty : But I 've nothing else to do But sit here at the window ; I should like to play with you. The little rain-drops cannot speak : But pitter-patter-pat Means, " We can play on this side, Why can't you play on that ? " Aukt Effie's Rhymes. IS IT YOU ? 33 THE DARLING LITTLE GIRL. Who 's the darling little girl Everybody loves to see ? She it is whose sunny face Is as sweet as sweet can be. Who 's the darling little girl Everybody loves to hear ? She it is whose pleasant voice Falls like music on the ear. Who 's the darling little girl Everybody loves to know ? She it is whose arts and thoughts All are pure as whitest snow. Who 's the darling little girl Even Jesus Christ can love ? She it is who, meek and good, Daily grows like Him above. Melodies for Childhood. IS IT YOU? There is a child, — a boy or girl, — I 'm sorry it is true, — Who does n't mind when spoken to : Is it ? — it is n't you ! no, it can't be you ! 3 c 34 THE ROBIN-REDBREASTS. •I know a child, — a boy or girl, — I 'm loth to say I do, — Who struck a little playmate child : Was it ? — it was n't you ! I hope that was n't you ! I know a child, — a boy or girl, — I hope that such are few, — Who told a lie ; yes, told a lie ! Was it ? — it was n't you ! It cannot be 't was you ! There is a boy, — I know a boy, — I cannot love him though, — Who robs the little birdies' nests ; Is it ? — it can't be you ! That bad boy can't be you ! A girl there is, — a girl I know, — And I could love her too, But that she is so proud and vain ; Is it ? — it can't be you ! That surely is n't you ! Mrs. Goodwin. THE ROBIN-REDBREASTS. Two Robin-redbreasts built their nests Within a hollow tree ; GOOD MORNING. 35 The hen sat quietly at home, The cock sang merrily ; And all the little young ones said : " Wee, wee, wee, wee, wee, wee." One day (the sun was warm and bright, And shining in the sky) Cock-robin said : " My little dears, 'T is time you learned to fly ; " And all the little young ones said : " I '11 try, I '11 try, I '11 try." I know a child, — and who she is I '11 tell you by and by, — When mamma says : "Do this," or " that," She says : " What for ? " and " Why ? " She 'd be a better child by far If she would say : " I '11 try." Auxt Effle's Rhymes. GOOD MORNING. " 0, 1 am so happy ! " a little girl said, As she sprang, like a lark, from her low trundle-bed ; " 'Tis morning, bright morning : good morning, papa. give me one kiss for good morning, mamma : Only just look at my pretty canary, Chirping his sweet good morning to Mary. 36 GOOD MORNING. The sun is peeping straight into my eyes, — Good morning to you, Mister Sun, for you rise Early to wake up my birdie and me, And make us as happy as happy can be." " Happy you may be, my dear little girl ; " And the mother stroked softly each clustering curl : " Happy you can be ; but think of the One Who wakened, this morning, both you and the sun.' The little girl turned her bright eyes with a nod : " Mamma, may I say ' Good morning ' to God ? " " Yes, little darling one, surely you may ; Kneel, as you kneel every morning to pray." Mary knelt solemnly down, with her eyes Looking up earnestly into the skies ; And two little hands, that were folded together, Softly she laid on the lap of her mother : " Good morning, dear Father in heaven," she said ; " I thank Thee for watching my snug little bed ; For taking good care of me all the dark night, And waking me up with the beautiful light. keep me from naughtiness all the long day, Dear Saviour, who taught little children to pray ! " An angel looked down in the sunshine and smiled, But she saw not the angel, — that beautiful child ! GOD MADE ME. I WILL BE GOOD TO-DAY. ; ' I will be good, dear mother," I heard a sweet child say ; " I will be good ; now watch ine, — I will be good all day." She lifted up her bright young eyes, With a soft and pleasing smile ; Then a mother's kiss was on her lips, So pure and free from guile. And when night came, that little one In kneeling down to pray, Said, in a soft and whispering tone : " Have I been good to-day ? " 0, many, many bitter tears, 'T would save us, did we say, Like that dear child, with earnest heart ; ' I will be good to-day." GOD MADE ME. I xow am but a little child ; My hands are weak, my strength is small ; Yet I can seek, and I can love, The Lord Almighty, God of all. 38 LITTLE DANDELION. He gave my life to me at first ; He loves the little child He made ; He keeps me safe through all the day, And guards me when in sleep I 'm laid. If I obey and love His law, He '11 teach me all I need to know ; And take me in His arms on high When I have lived my life below. Hymns for Young Children. LITTLE DANDELION. Gay little Dandelion Lights up the meads, Swings on her slender foot, Telleth her beads. Lists to the robin's note Poured from above ; Wise little Dandelion Asks not for love. Cold lie the daisy banks, Clad but in green, Where, in the days agone, Bright hues were seen. Wild pinks are slumbering, Violets delay ; LITTLE DANDELION. 39 True little Dandelion Greeteth the May. Brave little Dandelion ! Fast falls the snow, Bending the daffodil's Haughty head low. Under that fleecy tent, Careless of cold, Blithe little Dandelion Counteth her gold. Meek little Dandelion Groweth more fair, Till dries the amber dew Out from her hair. High rides the thirsty sun, Fiercely and high ; Faint little Dandelion Closeth her eye ! Pale little Dandelion, In her white shroud, Heareth the angel breeze Call from the cloud ! Tiny plumes fluttering, Make no delay ! Little winged Dandelion Soareth away ! 40 LILY OF THE VALLEY. LILY OF THE VALLEY. Come, my love, and do not spurn From a little flower to learn ; See the lily on its bed, Hanging down its modest head, While it scarcely can be seen, Folded in its leaf of green. Yet we love the lily well, For its sweet and pleasant smell ; And would rather call it ours, Than many other gayer flowers ; Pretty lilies seem to be Emblems of humility. Come, my love, and do not spurn From a little flower to learn ; Let your temper be as sweet, As the lily at your feet ; Be as gentle, be as mild, Be a modest, humble child. 'T is not beauty that we prize, — Like a summer's flower it dies ; But humility will last, Fair and sweet when beauty 's past And the Saviour from above, Views a humble child with love. LADY MOON. 41 THE JOURNEY. Dear mother, how pretty the raoon looks to-night. She was never so cunning before ! Her two little horns are so sharp and so bright, I hope she won't grow any more ! If I were up there, with you and my friends, We ? d have a nice rock, do you see ; We 'd sit in the middle, and hold at both ends, 0, what a bright cradle 't would be ! We 'd call to the stars to get out of our way, Lest we should rock over their toes ; And then we would stay till the dawn of day, And see where the pretty moon goes. And then we would float through the beautiful skies, And then through bright clouds we would roam, And see the sun set, and see the sun rise, And on the next rainbow come home. Choice Puem?. LADY MOON B the Moon, and the Moon sees me, God bless the Moon, and God bless me." — Old Rhyme. Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving ? Over the sea. Lady Moon. Lady Moon, whom are you loving? All that love m 42 LADY BIRD. Are you not tired with rolling, and never Resting to sleep ? Why look so pale, and so sad, as forever Wishing to weep ? Ask me not this, little child, if you love me ; You are too bold ; I must obey my dear Father above me, And do as I 'm told. Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving? Over the sea. Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving ? All that love me. R. M. MlLNES. LADY BIRD. Lady bird ! lady bird ! fly away home, The field-mouse has gone to her nest, The daisies have shut up their sweet, sleepy eyes, And the bees and the birds are at rest. Lady bird ! lady bird ! fly away home, The glow-worm is lighting her lamp, The dew 's falling fast, and your fine speckled wings Will be wet with the close-clinging damp. THE WATCH-DOG. 43 Lady bird ! lady bird ! fly away home, The fairy bells tinkle afar, Make haste, or they '11 catch you, and harness you fast, With a cobweb, to Oberon's car. Choice Poems. THE WATCH-DOG. FROM "WILLIE WLXKIE." Bow-wow-wow ! It 's the great watch-dog, I ken by his honest bark ; Bow-wow-wow ! Says the great watch-dog When he hears a foot in the dark. Not a breath can stir But he 's up with a whirr ! And a big bow-wow gives he ; And, with tail on end, He '11 the house defend Far better than lock or key. When we sleep sound, He takes his round, A sentry o'er us all. Through the long, dark night, Till broad daylight, He scares the thieves from our wall. 44 LITTLE CHILDREN, LOVE ONE ANOTHER. But through the whole day With the bairns he '11 play, And gambol in the sun ; On his back astride They may safely ride, For well he loves their fun. By all he 's kenned As a faithful friend, No flattering tongue has he ; And we may all learn From the great watch-dog Both faithful and fond to be. Alexander Smart. 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 a 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, It said : " Little children, love one another." She thought it was beautiful in the book, And the k'sson home to her heart she took. She walked on her way with a trusting grace, And a dovelike look in her meek young face, BEING KIND AND AFFECTIONATE. 45 Which said, just as plain as words could say : The Holy Bible I must obey ; So, inarmna, I *11 be kind to my darling brother, For •• little children must love each other." I am sorry he 's naughty and will not play, But I '11 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 we kneel in prayer to-night, I will clasp my arms about my brother, And say : " Little children, love one another." The little girl did as her Bible taught, And pleasant, indeed, was the change it wrought ; For the boy looked up in glad surprise, 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 looks down on the happy mother Whose '-little children loved one another." BEING KIND AND AFFECTIONATE. The God of heaven is pleased to see A little family agree ; And will not slight the praise they bring, When loving children join to sing. 46 NOT READY FOR SCHOOL. For love and kindness please him more Than if we give him all our store ; And children here, who dwell in love, Are like his happy ones above. The gentle child, who tries to please, Dislikes to quarrel, fret, and tease, And would not say an angry word, — That child is pleasing to the Lord. Great God ! forgive whenever we Forget thy will and disagree ; And grant that each of us may find The sweet delight of being kind. 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 uEsop is somewhere there too ; And sister, just brush down these troublesome hairs, And mother just fasten my shoe. NOT READY FOR SCHOOL. 47 And sister, beg father to write an excuse, But stop, he will only say " No " ; And go on with a smile, and keep reading the news, While everything bothers me so. My satchel is heavy, and ready to fall, This old pop-gun is breaking my map ; I '11 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 minute, I fear, Then away to the foot I must 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 have n'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 I was dressing too late ; To-morrow, Fll be up at six. Mrs. Gilman. 48 BUSY LITTLE HUSBANDMAN. BUSY LITTLE HUSBANDMAN. I 'm a little husbandman, Work and labor hard I can ; I 'm as happy all the day At my work as if 't were play : Though I 've nothing fine to wear, Yet for that I do not care. When to work I go along, Singing loud my morning song, With my wallet on my back, And my wagon-whip to crack, 0, 1 'm thrice as happy then As the idle gentleman. I 've a hearty appetite, And I soundly sleep at night ; Down I lie content, and say I Ve been useful all the day : I 'd rather be a ploughboy than A useless little gentleman. KINDNESS TO SERVANTS. 49 KINDNESS TO SERVANTS. NURSERY SONGS OF SCOTLAND. Now what was that you said to May So pettishly yestreen ? 0, well you may feel shame to tell How saucy you have been. There 's nothing spoils a bonny face Like sulks, in old or young, And what can fit a lassie worse, Than an ill-bred, saucy tongue ? ,It "s not your part to scold at May, To you she 's aye been kind, And oft she 's sung you to your sleep, Long, long ere you can mind. She cooks the meat, she does the work, She cleans when you but soil, And what would helpless bairnies be, Without the hands that toil ? The kindly look, the gentle word. Make friends of all who live, And give a charm to every face That nothing else can give. It 's well for bairns to have a friend, Who watches them with care. — For when in fault, — they learn from him In future to beware. Alexander Smart. 3 D 50 THE LITTLE TREE, ETC. THE LITTLE TREE THAT WANTED TO HAVE OTHER LEAVES. A little tree stood up in the wood, In bright and dirty weather ; And nothing but needles it had for leaves, From top to bottom together. The needles stuck about, And the little tree spoke out : — ■ "My companions all have leaves Beautiful to see, * While I 'vc nothing but these needles ; No one touches me. Might I have my fortune told, All my leaves should be pure gold." The little tree ? s asleep by dark, Awake by earliest light ; And now its golden leaves you mark ; There was a sight ! The little tree says : " Now I 'm set high ; No tree in the wood has gold leaves but I." And now again the night came back ; Through the forest there walked a Jew ; With great thick beard and great thick sack, And soon the gold leaves did view. THE LITTLE TREE, ETC. 51 He pockets thein all. and away does fare, Leaving the little tree quite bare. The little tree speaks up distressed : •• Those golden leaves how I lament ! I'm quite ashamed before the rest, Such lovely dress to them is lent. Might I bring one more wish to pass, I would have my leaves of the clearest glas-."* The little tree sleeps again at dark, And wakes with the early light : And now its glass leaves you may mark ; — There was a sight ! The little tree says : " Xow I 'm right glad, Xo tree in the wood is so brightly clad." There came up now a mighty blast, And a furious gale it blew ; It swept among the trees full fast, And on the glass leaves it flew. There lay the leaves of glass All shivered on the gr The little tree complains : •• My glass lies on the ground ; Each other tree remains With its green dress all round. Might I but have my wish once m I would have of those good green leaves good store." 52 Again asleep is the little tree, And early wakes to the light ; He is covered with green leaves fair to see, - He laughs outright ; And says : "lam now all nicely drest, Nor need be ashamed before the rest." And now, with udders full, Forth a wild she-goat sprung, Seeking for herbs to pull, To feed her young. She sees the leaves, nor makes much talk. But strips all clear to the very stalk. The little tree again is bare, And thus to himself he said : " No longer for my leaves I care, Whether green, or yellow, or red. If I had but my needles again, I would never more scold or complain." The little tree slept sad that night, And sadly opened his eye ; — He sees himself in the sun's first light, And laughs as if he would die. And all the trees in a roar burst out ; But the little tree little cared for their flout. What made the little tree laugh like mad ? And what set the rest in a roar? THE APPLE TREE. 53 In a single night soon back he had Every needle he had before. And everybody may see them such ; Go out and look, — but do not touch. Why not, I pray ? They prick, some say. RtiCKEBT, TRANS. BY Dr. FrOTHIN'GHAM. THE APPLE-TREE. Old John had an apple-tree, healthy and green, Which bore the best baldwins that ever were seen, So juicy, and mellow, and red ; And when they were ripe, as old Johnny was poor, He sold them to children that 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 nice apple-tree, And wishing an apple would 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, " 0, how nice they would be, So cool and refreshing to-day ! The tree is so full, and I W only take one, 54 wno STOLE the bird's-nest ? And old John won't see, for he is not at home, And nobody is in the way." But stop, little boy, take your hand from the bough, Remember, though old John can't 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 you do, and can hear all you say, From his glorious throne in the sky. then, little boy, come away from the tree, Content, hot or weary, or thirsty to be, Or anything rather than steal ! For the great God, who even through darkness can look, Writes down every crime we commit, in his book, However we think to conceal. Ja>-e Taylor. WHO STOLE THE BIRD'S-NEST? Te-whtt ! te-whit ! te-whee ! Will you listen to me ? Who stole four eggs I laid, And the nice nest I made ? Not I, said the cow, moo-oo ! Such a thing I 'd never do. I gave for you a wisp of hay, WHO STOLE THE BIRD'S-XEST ? 55 And did not take your nest away. Xot I, said the cow, moo-oo ! Such a thing I 'd never do. Te-whit ! te-whit ! te-whee ! Will you listen to me ? Who stole four eggs, I laid, And the nice nest I made ? Bob-a-link ! bob-a-link ! Xow what do you think ? Who stole a nest away From the plum-tree to-day ? Xot I, said the dog, Bow-wow ! I would n't be so mean as that, now ; I gave hairs the nest to make, But the nest I did not take. Xot I, said the dog, Bow-wow ! I would n't be so mean as that, now ! Te-whit ! te-whit ! te-whee ! Will you listen to me ? Who stole four eggs I laid, And the nice nest I made ? Bob-a-link ! Bob-a-link ! Xow what do you think ? Who stole a nest away, From the plum-tree to-day ? 56 WHO STOLE THE BIRD'S-NEST ? Coo-coo ! coo-coo ! coo-coo ! Let me speak a word, too ; Who stole that pretty nest From little yellow-breast ? Not I, said the sheep, no, I would n't treat a poor bird so ; I gave the wool the nest to line, But the nest was none of mine. Baa ! baa ! said the sheep ; no. I wouldn't treat a poor bird so. Te-whit ! te-whit ! te-whee ! Will you listen to me ? Who stole four eggs I laid, And the nice nest I made ? Bob-a-link ! Bob-a-link ! Now what do you think ? Who stole a nest away, From the plum-tree to-day ? Coo-coo ! coo-coo ! coo-coo ! Let me speak a word, too, Who stole that pretty nest From little yellow-breast ? Caw ! caw ! cried the crow, I should like to know What thief took away A bird's nest to-day ? WHO STOLE THE BIRD'S-NEST ? Cluck ! cluck ! cluck ! said the hen, Don't ask me again, Why. I have n't a chick Would do such a trick ; We all gave her a feather. And she wove them together ; I 'd scorn to intrude On her and her brood. Cluck ! cluck ! said the hen, Don't ask me again. Chirr-a-whirr ! chirr-a-whirr ! We '11 make a great stir ! Let us find out his name, And all cry for shame ! I would not rob a bird, Said little Mary Green ; I think I never heard Of anything so mean. 'T is very cruel, too, Said little Alice Xeal ; I wonder if he knew How sad the bird would feel ? A little boy hung down his head, And went and hid behind the bed, For he stole that pretty nest From poor little yellow-breast ; And he felt so full of shame, He did n't like to tell his name. Choice Poems. 58 THE BEETLE. THE BEETLE. Who 'll catch the Beetle ? " I," says Peter Spring, " I '11 seize it by the wing, I '11 catch the Beetle!" Who '11 get a piece of thread ? "I," says Dicky Bluff, " I '11 do it quick enough, I '11 tie it round his leg." Who '11 run and hold the string ? " We '11 all take turns to run, And have some royal fun, We '11 all hold the string." Who loves to hear him buzz ? " We do," says Lu and Dick, " We like this funny trick, We love to hear him buzz ! " But who is coming along ? A Giant large and strong, Ah, Peter, Dick, and Lu, He 's looking right at you ! Now towards you all he springs ; And ties your legs with strings ; GIVE AS YOU 'D TAKE. 59 He ties them one by one, And tells you all to run. He cries, " Run, run, Dick, Lucy, and Peter, " And, remember, just so you served the Fig-eater ! " Mrs. Gilma> t . GIVE AS YOU'D TAKE. NURSERY SOXGS OF SCOTLAND. My bairnies dear, when you go out With other bairns to play, Take heed of everything you do, Of every word you say ; From tricky, wee, mischievous loons Keep back, my bairns, keep back ; And aye to all such usage give As you would like to take. To twist the mouth and call ill names Is surely very bad ; Then all such doings still avoid, They 'd make your mother sad. To shield the weakly from the strong, Be neither slow nor slack, And aye to all such usage give, As you would like to take. 60 THE bird's funeral. A kindly word, a soothing look, Have ready aye for all ; We are one Maker's handiwork, He made us — great and small — We 're all the children of his care ; 0, then for his dear sake Be sure such usage still to give As you would like to take. Alexander Rodger. THE BIKD'S FUNERAL. Here, in these rosy bowers, Sleep, little bird ! we crave A spot beneath the flowers To dig thy early grave. So charming was thy singing ! Thou wast to us so dear, Thy voice has ceased its ringing, And we are weeping here. Sweet May waked all her roses Thy thrilling notes to hear ; And now with mourning posies We strew thy silent bier. Songs fkom the German. MY FATHER. 61 MY FATHER. Who took me from my mother's arms, And, smiling at her soft alarms, Showed me the world, and nature's charms ? My father. Who made me feel and understand The wonders of the sea and land, And mark through all the Maker's hand ? My father. Who climbed with me the mountain height, And watched my look of dread delight, While rose the glorious orb of light ? My father. Who, from each flower and verdant stalk, Gathered a subject for our talk, To fill the long, delightful walk ? My father. Xot on a poor worm would he tread, Nor strike the little insect dead ; Who taught at once my heart and head ? My father. Who taught my early mind to know The God from whom all blessings flow. Creator of all things below ; My father. 02 MY MOTHER. Soon, and before the mercy-seat, Spirits made perfect, — we shall meet! Then with what transports shall I greet My father. Axn Taylor. MY MOTHER. Who fed me from her gentle breast, And hushed me in her arms to rest, And on my cheek sweet kisses pressed ? My mother. When sleep forsook my open eye, Who was it sang sweet lullaby, And rocked me that I should not cry ? 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 motllfer. MY MOTHER. 63 Who dressed 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 I My mother. And can I ever cease to be Affectionate and kind to thee. Who was 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. 64 THE DOCTOR. And when I see thee hang thy head, 'T will 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 sorrow in his eyes, If I should ever dare despise My mother. Ann Taylor. THE DOCTOR FEOM WILLIE WINKIE. 0, do not fear the doctor ; He comes to make you well, To nurse you like a tender flower, And pleasant tales to tell ; He brings the bloom back to your cheek, The blithe blink to your eye, An 't were not for the doctor. My bonnie bairn might die. 0, who would fear the doctor, His powder or his pill — You just a wee bit swallow take. And there 's an end of ill. He '11 make you sleep sound as a top, THE HAND-POST. 65 And rise up like a fly, — An 't were not for the doctor, My bonnie bairn might die. A kind man is the doctor, As many poor folk ken ; He spares no toil by day or night To ease them of their pain ; And 0, he loves the bairnies well And grieves whene'er they cry, — An 't were not for the doctor, My bonnie bairn might die. Alexander Smart. THE HAND-POST. The night was dark, the sun was hid Beneath the mountain gray : And not a single star appeared, To shoot a silver ray. Across the path the owlet flew, And screamed along the blast, And onward with a quickened step, Benighted Henry passed. At intervals, amid the gloom A flash of lightning played, And showed the ruts with water filled, And the black hedge's shade. 66 THE HAND-POST. Again in thickest darkness plunged, He groped his way to find ; And now he thought lie spied beyond A form of horrid kind. In deadly white it upward rose, Of cloak or mantle bare, And held its naked arms across, To catch him by the hair. Poor Henry felt his blood run cold At what before him stood ; But well, thought he, no harm, I 'm sure. Can happen to the good. So calling all his courage up, He to the goblin went ; And eager through the dismal gloom His piercing eyes he bent. And when he came well nigh the ghost That gave him such affright, He clapped his hands upon his side, And loudly laughed outright. For 't was a friendly hand-post stood His wand'ring steps to guide ; And thus he found that to the good No evil can betide. THE HAND-POST. 67 And well, thought he, one thing I We learnt, Nor soon shall I forget, Whatever frightens me again, To march straight up to it. And when I hear an idle tale Of goblins and a ghost, I '11 tell of tins my lonely ride, And the tall, white Hand-post. Ann Taylor. PART III NATURE THE BOOK OF NATURE. There is a book, who runs may read. Which heavenly truth imparts, And all the lore its scholars need, Pure eyes and Christian hearts. 72 THE BEGGAR. The works of God above, below, Within us, and around, Are pages in that book to show How God himself is found. The glorious sky, embracing all, Is like the Maker's love, Wherewith encompassed, great and small In peace and order move. The dew of heaven is like His grace, It steals in silence down ; But where it lights, the favored place By richest fruits is known. Thou, who hast given me eyes to see And love this sight so fair, Give me a heart to find out Thee, And read Thee everywhere. THE BEGGAR A beggar through the world am I, — From place to place I wander by. Fill up my pilgrim's sc:rip for me, For Christ's sweet sake and charity ! Keble. THE BEGGAR. 73 A little of thy steadfastness, * Rounded with leafy gracefulness, Old oak, give me, — That the world's blasts may round me blow, And I yield gently to and fro, While my stout-hearted trunk below And firm-set roots unshaken be. Some of thy stern, unyielding might, Enduring still through day and night Rude tempest-shock and withering blight, — That I may keep at bay The changeful April sky of chance And the strong tide, of circumstance, — Give me, old granite gray. Some of thy pensiveness serene, Some of thy never-dying green, Put in this scrip of mine, — That griefs may fall like snow-flakes light, And deck me in a robe of white, Ready to be an angel bright, — sweetly-mournful pine. A little of thy merriment, Of thy sparkling, light content, Give me, my cheerful brook, That I may still be full of glee And gladsomeness, where'er I be, Though fickle fate hath prisoned me In some neglected nook. GUESS WHAT I HAVE HEARD. *Ye have been very kind and good To me, since I 've been in the wood ; Ye have gone nigh to fill my heart ; But good by, kind friends, every one, I 've far to go ere set of sun ; Of all good things I would have part, The day was high ere I could start, And so my journey 's scarce begun. Heaven help me! how could I forget To beg of thee, dear violet ! Some of thy modesty, That blossoms here as well, unseen, As if before the world thou 'dst oeen, give, to strengthen me. J. R. Lowell. GUESS WHAT I HAVE HEARD Dear mother, guess what I have heard ! 0, it will soon be spring ! I 'm sure it was a little bird, — Mother I heard him sing. Look at this little piece of green That peeps out from the snow, As if it wanted to be seen, — 'T will soon be spring, I know. GUESS WHAT I HAVE HEARD. 7" And 0, come here, come here and look ! How fast it runs along ! — Here is a cunning little brook ; 0, hear its pretty song ! 1 know 't is glad the winter 's gone That kept it all so still, For now it merrily runs on, And goes just where it will. I feel just like the brook, I know : It says, it seems to me, — " Good by, cold weather, ice, and snow ; Xow girls and brooks are free." I love to think of what you said, Mother, to me last night, Of this great world that God has made, So beautiful and bright. And now it is the happy Spring No naughty thing I '11 do ; I would not be the only thing That is not happy, too. Mrs. Follex. " Be kind to all you chance to meet, In field, or lane, or crowded street Anger and pride are both unwise - Vinegar never catches flies." 76 WHAT THEY ARE DOING. WHAT THEY ARE DOING. " Little Sparrow, come and say What you 're doing all the day ? " " 0, 1 fly over hedges and ditches to find A fat little worm, or a fly to my mind ; Ajid I carry it back to my own pretty nest And the dear little pets that I warm with my breast ; For until I can teach them the way how to fly, If I were not to feed them, my darlings would die : How glad they all are when they see me come home ! And each of them chirps, ' Give me some ! Give me some ! ' " " Little Lamb, come here and say What you 're doing all the day ? " " Long enough before you wake, Breakfast I am glad to take, In the meadow eating up Daisy, cowslip, buttercup ; Then about the fields I play, Frisk and scamper all the day ; When I 'm thirsty I can drink Water at the river's brink ; When at night I go to sleep, By my mother I must keep ; I am safe enough from cold At her side within the fold." WHAT THEY ARE DOING. 77 " Little Bee, come here and say What you 're doing all the day ? " " 0, every day, and all day long, Among the flowers you hear my song : I creep in every bud I see, And all the honey is for me ; I take it to the hive with care And give it to my brothers there, That when the winter time comes on, And all the flowers are dead and gone, And when the wind is cold and rough, The busy bees may have enough." " Little Fly, come here and say What you 're doing all the day ? " " 0, 1 am a gay and merry fly, I never do anything — no, — not I. I go where I like, and I stay where I please, In the heat of sun, or the shade of the trees ; On the window-pane, or the cupboard shelf; And I care for nothing except myself : I cannot tell, it is very true, When the winter comes what I mean to do ; And I very much fear, when I 'm getting old, I shall starve with hunger, or die of cold." Rhymes for Little Ones. 78 THE GLADNESS OF NATURE. THE GLADNESS OF NATURE. Is this a time to be cloudy and sad, When our mother Nature laughs around ; When even the deep blue heavens look glad, And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground ? There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren, And the gossip of swallows through all the sky ; The ground-squirrel gayly chirps by his den, And the wilding bee hums merrily by. The clouds are at play in the azure space, And their shadows at play on the bright green vale ; And here they stretch to the frolic chase, And there they roll on the easy gale. There 's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower ; There 's a titter of wind in that beechen tree ; There 's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea. And look at the broadfaced sun, how he smiles On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray, On the breaking waters and gay young isles ; — Ay, look ! and he '11 smile thy gloom away. Bryant. THE SONG OF THE GRASS. WHAT I WOULD BE. I would not be an eagle fierce, With nest upon a rock, Stealing the harmless little lambs From the poor shepherd's flock. I would not be a moping owl, Snoring in bed all day. And pouncing on the mice at night, When they come out to play. Xo — I would be a lark, and mount From the daisy-spangled sod, Witli twinkling wings to Heaven's gate, Singing the praise of God. Songs from the German. THE SONG OF THE GRASS. Here I come, creeping, creeping everywhere By the dusty road-side, On the sunny hill-side, Close by the noisy brook, In every shady nook, I come creeping, creeping everywhere. 80 THE SONG OF THE GRASS. Here I come, creeping, creeping everywhere All around the open door, Where sit the aged poor, There where the children play, In the bright and merry May, I come creeping, creeping everywhere. Here I come, creeping, creeping everywhere In the noisy city street My pleasant face you '11 meet, Cheering the sick at heart, Toiling his busy part, Silently creeping, creeping everywhere. Here I come, creeping, creeping everywhere You cannot see me coming, Nor hear my low sweet humming, For in the starry night, And the glad morning light, I come quietly, creeping everywhere. Here I come, creeping, creeping everywhere More welcome than the flowers, In summer's pleasant hours. The gentle cow is glad, And the merry bird not sad To see me creeping, creeping everywhere. Here I come, creeping, creeping everywhere When you 're numbered with the dead, In your still and narrow bed, BIRDS. 81 In the happy Spring I '11 come, And deck your silent home, Creeping, silently creeping everywhere. Here I come, creeping, creeping everywhere : My humble song of praise Most gratefully I raise To Him at whose command I beautify the land, Creeping, silently creeping everywhere. JOHX S. DW1GHT. BIRDS 0, the sunny summer time ! 0, the leafy summer time ! Merry is the bird's life, When the year is in its prime ! Birds are by the waterfalls Dashing in the rainbow spray ; Everywhere, everywhere, Light and lovely there are they ! Birds are in the forest old, Building in each hoary tree ; Birds are on the green hills ; Birds are by the sea ! 4* ' I 82 BIRDS. On the moor and in the fen 'Mong the whortleberries green ; In the yellow furze-bush, There the joyous bird is seen ; In the heather, on the hill ; All among the mountain thyme ; By the little brook-sides, Where the sparkling waters )hime ; In the crag ; and on the peak, Splintered, savage, wild, and bare, There the bird with wild wing Wheeleth through the air. Wheeleth through the breezy air, Singing, screaming in his flight, Calling to his bird-mate, In a troubleless delight ! In the green and leafy wood, Where the branching ferns up-curl. Soon as is the dawning, Wakes the mavis and the merle ; Wakes the cuckoo on the bough ; Wakes the jay with ruddy breast ; Wakes the mother ringdove Brooding on her nest ! 0, the sunny summer-time ! 0, the leafy summer-time ! Merry is the bird's life When the year is in its prime ! SUMMER WOODS. 83 Some are strong and some are weak ; Some love day and some love night ; But whate'er a bird is, Whate'er loves — it has delight In the joyous song it sings ; In the liquid air it cleaves ; In the sunshine, in the shower, In the nest it weaves ! Mary Howrrr. SUMMER WOODS. Come ye into the summer woods ; There entereth no annoy ; All greenly wave the chestnut leaves, And the earth is full of joy. I cannot tell you 'half the sights Of beauty you may see, The bursts of golden sunshine, And many a shady tree. There, lightly swung, in bowery glades, The honeysuckles twine ; There blooms the rose-red campion, And the dark-red columbine. 84: SUMMER WOODS. There grows the four-leaved plant " true-love," In some dusk woodland spot ; There grows the enchanter's night-shade, And the wood forget-me-not. And many a merry bird is there, Unscared by lawless men ; The blue-winged jay, the woodpecker, And the golden-crested wren. Come down, and ye shall see them all, The timid and the bold ; For their sweet life of pleasantness, It is not to be told. And far within that summer-wood, Among the leaves so green, There flows a little gurgling brook, The brightest e'er was seen. There come the little gentle birds, Without a fear of ill ; Down to the murmuring water's edge And freely drink their fill ! And dash about and splash about, The merry little things ; And look askance with bright black eyes. And flirt their dripping wings. SUMMER WOODS. 85 I 've seen the freakish squirrels drop Down from their leafy tree, The little squirrels with the old, — Great joy it was to me ! And down unto the running brook I 've seen them nimbly go ; And the bright water seemed to speak A welcome kind and low. The nodding plants they bow their heads, As if, in heartsome cheer, They spake unto those little things, " 'T is merry living here ! " 0, how my heart ran o'er with joy 1 I saw that all was good, And how we might glean up delight All round us, if we would ! And many a wood-mouse dwelleth there, Beneath the old wood-shade, And all day long has work to do, Nor is of aught afraid. The green shoots grow above their heads, And roots so fresh and fine Beneath their feet, nor is there strife 'Mong them for mine and thine. 86 LITTLE BELL. There is enough for every one, And they lovingly agree ; We might learn a lesson, all of us, Beneath the green-wood tree ! Mary Howitt. LITTLE BELL. " He prayeth well who loveth well Both man and bird and beast." Piped the Blackbird on the beechwood spray, " Pretty maid, slow wandering this way, What 's your name ? " quoth he — " What 's your name ? 0, 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, LITTLE BELL. 87 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 leaped 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 return ; Bring me nuts ! " quoth she. Up, away ! the frisky squirrel hies — Golden woodlights glancing in his eyes — And adown the tree, Great ripe nuts, kissed brown by July sun, In the little lap drop, one by one — Hark, how Blackbird pipes to see the fun ! " Happy Bell ! " pipes he. 38 LITTLE BELL. Littlo Bell looked up and down the glade : " Squirrel, Squirrel, from the nut-tree shade, Bonny Blackbird, if you 're not afraid, Come and share with me ! " Down came Squirrel, eager for his fare, Down came bonny Blackbird, I declare, Little Bell gave each his honest share. Ah, the merry three ! And the while those 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 the 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, unseen In blue heaven, an angel shape serene Paused awhile to hear. " What good child is this," the angel said, " That with happy heart, beside her bed, Prays so lovingly ! " Low and soft, very low and soft, Crooned the Blackbird in the orchard croft, " Bell, dear Bell ! " crooned he. KINDNESS TO ANIMALS. 89 " Whom God's creatures love," the angel fair Murmured, " God doth bless with angel's 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. KINDNESS TO ANIMALS. Turn, turn the hasty foot aside, Nor crush that helpless worm ; The frame thy wayward looks deride. Required a God to form. The common Lord of all that move, From whom thy being flowed, A portion of his boundless love On that poor worm bestowed. The sun, the moon, the stars he made, To all his creatures free ; Ajid spreads o ? er earth the grassy blade For worms as well as thee. Let them enjoy their little day, Their lowly bliss receive ; do not lightly take away The life thou canst not give. GlSBOKN. 90 THE OAK-TREE. THE OAK-TREE. Sing for the Oak-tree, The monarch of the wood ; Sing for the Oak-tree, That groweth green and good ; That groweth broad and branching Within the forest shade ; That groweth now, and yet shall grow When we are lowly laid ! The Oak-tree was an acorn once, And fell upon the earth ; And sun and showers nourished it, And gave the Oak-tree birth. The little sprouting Oak-tree ! Two leaves it had at first, Till sun and showers had nourished it, Then out the branches burst. The little sapling Oak-tree ! Its root was like a thread, Till the kindly earth had nourished it, Then out it freely spread : On this side and on that side It grappled with the ground ; And in the ancient, rifted rock Its firmest footing found. THE OAK-TREE. 91 The winds came, and the rain fell ; The gusty tempest blew ; All, all were friends to the Oak-tree, And stronger yet it grew. The boy that saw the acorn fall, He feeble grew and gray ; But the oak was still a thriving tree. And strengthened every day ! Four centuries grows the Oak-tree, Nor doth its verdure fail ; Its heart is like the iron-wood, Its bark like plated mail. Now cut us down the Oak-tree, The monarch of the wood ; And of its timbers stout and strong We '11 build a vessel good ! The Oak-tree of the forest Both east and west shall fly ; And the blessings of a thousand lands Upon our ship shall lit ! For she shall not be a man of war, Nor a pirate shall she be ; But a noble, Christian merchant ship, To sail upon the sea. Mary Howitt. 92 SUNSHINE. SUNSHINE. I love the sunshine everywhere, — In wood, and field, and glen ; I love it in the busy haunts Of town-imprisoned men. I love it when it streameth in The humble cottage-door, And casts a checkered casement shade Upon the red-brick floor. I love it where the children lie Deep in the clovery grass, To watch among the twining roots The gold-green beetles pass. I love it on the breezy sea, To glance on sail and oar, While the great waves, like molten glass, Come leaping to the shore. I love it on the mountain-tops, " Where lies the thawless snow, And half a kingdom, bathed in light, Lies stretching out below. SUNSHINE. 93 And irhen it shines in forest glades, Hidden and green and cool, Through mossy boughs and veined leave-. How is it beautiful ! How beautiful on little streams, Where sun and shade at play. Make silvery meshes, while the brook Goes singing on its way. How beautiful, where dragon-flies Are wondrous to behold, With rainbow wings of gauzy pearl. And bodies blue and gold ! How beautiful on harvest slopes, To see the sunshine lie ; Or on the paler reaped fields, Where yellow shocks stand high ! yes ! I love the sunshine : Like kindness or like mirth Upon a human countenance Is sunshine on the earth ! Upon the earth, upon the sea, And through the crystal air, On piled-up cloud, the gracious sun Is glorious everywhere ! Mary Howttt. 94 ROBERT OF LINCOLN. ROBERT OF LINCOLN. Merrily singing on brier and weed, Near to the nest of his little dame, Over the mountain-side or mead, Robert of Lincoln is telling his name : Bob-o'-link, Bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Snug and safe in that nest of ours, Hidden among the summer-flowers ; Chee, chee, chee. Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest, Wearing a bright-black wedding-coat ; White are his shoulders, and white his crest ; Hear him call in his merry note, Bob-o'-link, Bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Look what a nice new coat is mine, Sure there was never a bird so fine ; Chee, chee, chee. Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, Passing at home a patient life, Broods in the grass while her husband sings, Bob : o'-link, Bob-o'-link ; Brood, kind creature, you need not fear Thieves and robbers while I am here ; Chee, chee, chee. ROBERT OF LINCOLN. 95 Modest and shy as a nun is she ; One weak chirp is her only note ; Braggart, and prince of braggarts is he, Pouring boasts from his little throat — Never was I afraid of man, Catch me cowardly knaves, if you can. Six white eggs on a bed of hay, Freckled with purple, a pretty sight ! There as the mother sits all day, Robert is singing with all his might, — Nice good wife, that never goes out, * Keeping house while I frolic about. Soon as the little ones chip the shell, Six wide mouths are open for food ; Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, Gathering seeds for the hungry brood. This new life is likely to be Hard for a young fellow like me. Robert of Lincoln at length is made Sober with work, and silent with care ; Oft is his holiday garment laid Half forgotten that merry air, — Xobody knows but my mate and I Where our nest and our nestlings lie. Summer wanes, — the children are grown : Fun and frolic no more he knows, 96 THE WIND. Robert of Lincoln 's a humdrum crone ; Off he flies, and we sing as he goes, — When ) r ou can pipe in that merry old strain, Robert of Lincoln come back again. W. C. Bryant. THANKFULNESS. When thou hast truly thanked thy God For every blessing sent, Bu# little time will then remain For murmur or lament. THE WIND. What way does the wind come ? what way does he go ? He rides over the water, and over the snow ; Through wood, and through vale, and o'er rocky height, Which the goat cannot climb, takes his sounding flight ; He tosses about in every bare tree, As, if you look up, you plainly may see ; But how he will come, and whither he goes, There 's never a scholar in England knows. He will suddenly stop in a cunning nook, And rings a sharp Tarum ; — but, if you should look, There 's nothing to see but a cushion of snow, THE WIND. 97 Round as a pillow, and whiter than milk, And softer than if it were covered with silk. Sometimes he '11 hide in the cave of a rock, Then whistle as shrill as the buzzard cock ; — Yet seek him, — and what shall you find in the place ? Nothing but silence and empty space ; Save in a corner, a heap of dry leaves, That he 's left, for a bed, to beggars or thieves ! As soon as 't is daylight, to-morrow with me, You shall go to the orchard, and then you will see That he has been there, and made a great rout And cracked the branches, and strewn them about ; Heaven grant that he spare but that one upright twig That looked up at the sky so proud and big All last summer, as well you know, Studded with apples, a beautiful show ! Hark ! over the roof he makes a pause, And growls as if he would fix his claws Right in the slates, and with a huge rattle Drive them down, like men in a battle : — But let him range round ; he does us no harm, We build up the fire, we 're snug and warm ; Untouched by his breath, see the candle shines bright, And burns with a clear and steady light ; Books have we to read, — but that half stifled knell, Alas ! 'tis the sound of the eight o'clock bell. — Come, now we Tl to bed ! and when we are there He may work his own will, and what shall we care ? 5 G 98 THE KITTEN AND THE FALLING LEAVES. He may knock at the door, — we'll not let him in ; May drive at the windows, — we '11 laugh at his din ; Let him seek his own home wherever it be ; Here 's a cosey warm house for Edward and me. Mary Lamb. THE KITTEN AND THE FALLING LEAVES. See the kitten on the wall, Sporting with the leaves that fall. Withered leaves, one — two — and three, From the lofty elder-tree ! Through the calm and frosty air Of this morning, bright and fair, Eddying round and round, they sink Softly, slowly ; one might think, From the motions that are made, Every little leaf conveyed Sylph or fairy hither tending, To this lower world descending ; Each invisible and mute In his wavering parachute. But the kitten, how she starts, Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts, First at one, and then its fellow, Just as light and just as yellow ; There are many now — now one — Now they stop, and there are none. THE CORAL BRANCH. R9 "What intenseness of desire In her upward eve of fire ! With a tiger-leap, half-way Xow she meets the coming prey, Lets it go as fast, and then Has it in her power again. Were her antics played i' the eye Of a thousand standers-by, Clapping hands with shout and stare, What would little Tabby care For the plaudits of the crowd ? Over happy to be proud, Over wealthy in the treasure Of her own exceeding pleasure ! Wordsworth. THE CORAL BRANCH I thought my branch of coral A pretty shrub might be, Until I learned a little worm Had made it in the sea. Down, down so deep, Where dark waters sleep, The coral insect lives ; But rests not there, With toil and care It upward, upward strives. 100 JACK FROST. It builds its coral palaces Than lofty hills more high, And then the structure to complete, The little worm must die ; Thus teaching me, When coral I see, That dying I should leave Some good work here My friends to cheer, When o'er my tomb they grieve. JACK FROST. A bright little rogue jumped out of his bed, With his rose-flushed cheek, and his golden hair Curling and floating all over his head, As if slumber had only been frolicking there. He sprung to the window, and clapped his hands, And a smile came up in his deep-blue eyes, For a vision of other, and lovelier lands, In still, dim beauty, before him lies ! The fairy garden — the glittering mosque, The graceful bower and gay kiosk, The lake, that sparkles in light serene, Might mark the picture a Persian scene : That cataract foaming ! — A drop of light ! Those cloud-capt mountains in miniature ! JACK FROST. 101 Why. a fly. in a twinkling, could climb the height, Where Eastern idolaters knelt of yore ! But close to the temple — how came it there ? — Is something that looks like a great white bear ! And gliding away on the sunniest edge Of the garden bright, is a Lapland sledge ! The graceful reindeer is white as snow, — And the reins and his antlers are silver, I know ! And see ! on the seat of the gossamar car, A dear little Laplander shines like a star. With a cunning white boa, on her tiny blue dress — What ! fur among roses ! she '11 melt, I guess. She is rather too brilliant for nature ; no matter, — We believe *t is the license of painters to flatter. Willy knew by the tracing, strange and fair. That a queer little artist, called Frost, had been there : He thought, too, he spied him, outside of the pane — That funny old man — when he looked again, With his twinkling eyes. keen, cold, and bright. His pallet of pearl and pencil of light, His pinions of fleece, with moonbeams inlaid, And his three-cornered cap, of a diamond made. He looked hard at Willy, as much as to say, " I would give the best gem in my casket, to play With your wild, bright curls, and your lip of rose, Or to bite off the end of your dear little nose ! " ; * Xo ! no ! Mr. Frost, you may peep if you please. Over the mountains, and through the tre- You may float in the clouds, through the deep midnight. And play with your jewels of rainbow light ! 102 JACK FROST. You may dance on the lake with your twinkling feet, Till it hardens beneath them, a silver sheet ! You may wave your wings o'er the woodland bloom, And sprinkle their sparkles amid the gloom, Till the whole wide forest, from towering pine To baby-bilsh, with your snow-plumes shine ! You may look on the rivulet, murmuring by, Till you charm it to sleep with your clear, cold eye, And bid it forget its flowing. You may do what you will, and I will not fear — No ! no ! Mr. Frost, you shall not come here. Mother, how cold it is growing ! No ! no ! Mr. Frost, you may bite, if you please, The poor little shivering birds on the trees ; You may dig with the point of your cap in the earth, Till you come to the place where the flowers have birth And tell them they must n't come up, — if they do, You '11 pinch them all, till they 're black and blue ! You may frighten the lilies and roses ; You may bite the bush, the vine, the tree, But, Mr. Jack Frost, you shall not bite me ! Mother, how cold my nose is ! No ! no ! Mr. Frost, you may eat the grass ; You may try your teeth upon window-glass, Since you must do some mischief or other ; You may swallow the brooks, — and the deep, full sea, You thirsty old fellow ! your drink may be, But, dear Mr. Jack Frost ! please don't eat me ! 0, give me my breakfast mother ! " The milk was lifted, for Willy to sip ; IT SNOWS. 103 But he felt, just then, on his soft, warm lip, A tiny touch, from a hand of ice, And he put it away from his mouth in a trice. What do you think he found in his cup ? The poor little iceman himself peeped up. Willy lifted the bowl — one draught he drew ; — " And pray, Mr. Jack Frost, where are you ? You need n't go diving and glancing about, As if little Willy would let you come out." Ah, Willy ! he drained the sweet cup with delight, And when he had finished, he stared in affright, He thought he should find him all snugly curled up, The poor little painter ! within the deep cup. Full sharply he looked — but Jack was not there, And Willy cried out, " He 's gone, I declare ! While I drank, he jumped from the bowl, I know — Mother, dear mother, did you see him go ? You 're a coward, Jack Frost; and next time I meet you. If you dare touch my lips, I will surely eat you." Choice Poems. IT SNOWS. It snows ! it snows ! from out the sky The feathered flakes, how fast they fly. Like little birds, that don't know why They 're on the chase, from place to place, While neither can the other trace. It snows ! it snows ! a merry play Is o'er us, on this heavy day ! 104 IT SNOWS. As dancers in an airy hall, That has n't room to hold them all, While some keep up, and others fall, The atoms shift, then, thick and swift, They drive along to form the drift, That waving up, so dazzling white, Is rising like a wall of light. But now the wind comes whistling loud, To snatch and waft it as a cloud, Or giant phantom in a shroud ; It spreads ! it curls ! it mounts and whirls ! At length, a mighty wing unfurls ; And then, away ! but, where, none knows, Or ever will. — It snows ! it snows ! To-morrow will the storm be done ; Then, out will come the golden sun : And we shall see, upon the run Before his beams, in sparkling streams, What now a curtain o'er him seems. And thus, with life, it ever goes ; 'Tis shade and shine ! — It snows ! it snows ! H. F. Gould. 'T is little acts of good or ill, That make our vast account. No o?ie, though great, does all God's will. Small drops the caves of ocean fill ; And sands compose the mount. IlilD. LOVING AND LIKING. 105 LOVING AND LIKING. There 's more in words than I can teach : Yet listen, Child ! — I would not preach ; But only give some plain directions To guide your speech and your affections. Say not you love a roasted Fowl, But you may love a screaming Owl, And if you can, the unwieldy Toad That crawls from his secure abode Within the mossy garden-wall When evening dews begin to fall. 0, mark the beauty of his eye : What wonders in that circle lie ! So clear, so bright, our fathers said He wears a jewel in his head ! And when, upon some showery day, Into a path or public way, A Frog leaps out from bordering grass, Startling the timid as they pass, Do you observe him, and endeavor To take the intruder into favor ; Learning from him to find a reason For a light heart in a dull season. And you may love him in the pool, That is for him a happy school, In which he swims, as taught by nature, A pattern for a human creature, Glancing amid the water bright, 5* 106 LOVING AND LIKING. And sending upward sparkling light. Nor blush if o'er your heart be stealing A love for things that have no feeling ; The spring's first Rose, by you espied, May fill your breast with joyful pride ; And you may love the Strawberry flower, M And love the Strawberry in its bower ; But when the fruit, so often praised For beauty to your lip is raised, Say not you love the delicate treat, But like it, enjoy it, and thankfully eat. Long may you love your pensioner Mouse, Though one of a tribe that torment the house : Nor dislike for her cruel sport the Cat, That deadly foe of both mouse and rat : Remember she follows the law of her kind, And Instinct is neither wayward nor blind. Then think of her beautiful gliding form, Her tread that would not crush a worm, And her soothing song by the winter fire, Soft as the dying throb of the lyre. I would not circumscribe your love : It may soar with the eagle and brood with the dove, May pierce the earth with the patient mole, Or track the hedgehog to his hole. Loving and liking are the solace of life, They foster all joy, and extinguish all strife. You love your father and your mother, Your grown-up and your baby brother ; THE BAREFOOT BOY. 107 You love your sister, and your friends, And countless blessings which God sends : And while these right affections play, You live each moment of your day ; They lead you on to full content, And likings fresh and innocent, That store the mind, the memory feed, And prompt to many a gentle deed : But likings come, and pass away ; 'T is love that remains till our latest day : Our heavenward guide is holy love, And it will be our bliss with saints above ! Mary Lamb. THE BAREFOOT BOY. Blessings on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan ! With thy turned-up pantaloons, And thy merry whistled tunes ; With thy red lip, redder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill ; With the sunshine on thy face, Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace From my heart I give thee joy — I was once a barefoot boy ! Prince thou art — the grown-up man Only is republican. 108 THE BAREFOOT BOY. Let the million-dollared ride ! Barefoot, trudging at his side, Thou hast more than he can buy, In the reach of ear and eye — Outward sunshine, inward joy : Blessings on thee, barefoot boy ! for boyhood's painless play, Sleep that wakes in laughing day, Health that mocks the doctor's rules, Knowledge never learned in schools, Of the wild-bee's morning chase, Of the wild-flower's time and place, Flight of fowl, and habitude Of the tenants of the wood ; How the tortoise bears his shell, How the woodchuck digs his cell, And the ground-mole sinks his well ; How the robin feeds her young, How the oriole's nest is hung ; Where the whitest lilies blow, Where the freshest berries grow, Where the ground-nut trails its vine, Where the wood-grape's clusters shine ; Of the black wasp's cunning way, Mason of his walls of clay, And the architectural plans Of gray hornet artisans ! — For, eschewing books and tasks, Nature answers all he asks ; THE BAREFOOT BOY. 109 Hand in hand with her he walks, Face to face with her he talks, Part and parcel of her joy — Blessings on the barefoot boy ! Cheerily, then, my little man, Live and laugh, as boyhood can ! Though the flinty slopes be hard, Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, Every morn shall lead thee through Fresh baptisms of the dew ; Every evening from thy feet Shall the cool wind kiss the heat : All too soon these feet must hide In the prison cells of pride, Lose the freedom of the sod, Like a colt's for work be shod. Happy if their track be found Never on forbidden ground ; Happy if they sink not in Quick and treacherous sands of sin. Ah ! that thou couldst know thy joy, Ere it passes, barefoot boy ! J. G. Whittier. 110 TIRED OF PLAY. TIRED OF PLAY. Tired of play ! tired of play ! What hast thou done this livelong day ? The bird is hushed, and so is the bee, The sun is creeping up steeple and tree ; The doves have flown to the sheltering eaves, And the nests are dark with the drooping leaves Twilight gathers, and day is done ; — How hast thou spent it, precious one ? Playing ? — But what hast thou done beside, To tell thy mother at eventide ? What promise of morn is left unbroken ? What kind word to thy playmate spoken ? Whom hast thou pitied, and whom forgiven ? How with thy faults has duty striven ? What hast thou learned by field and hill, By green-wood path, and by singing rill ? There will come an eve to a longer day, That will find thee tired, — but not of play. Well for thee then, if thy lip can tell A tale like this of a day spent well. If thine open hand hath relieved distress, If thy pity hath sprung at wretchedness, If thou hast forgiven the sore offence, And humbled thy heart with penitence ; If Nature's voices have spoken to thee NOT TO MYSELF ALONE. Ill With their holy meanings, eloquently ; If every creature hath won thy love, From the creeping worm to the brooding dove, And never a sad, low-spoken word Hath plead with thy human heart unheard, — Then, when the night steals on as now, It will bring relief to thine aching brow, And with joy and peace at the thought of rest, Thou wilt sink to sleep on thy mother's breast. N. P. Willis. NOT TO MYSELF ALONE. •• Xot to myself alone." The little opening flower transported cries, — •• Xot to myself alone I bud and bloom ; With fragrant breath the breezes I perfume, And gladden all things with my rainbow dyes. The bee comes sipping, every eventide. His dainty fill ; The butterfly within my cup doth hide From threatening ill." ■• Xot to myself alone," The circling star with honest pride doth boast, — •• Xot to myself alone I rise and set ; I write upon night's coronal of jet His power and skill who formed our myriad host ; 112 NOT TO MYSELF ALONE. A friendly beacon at heaven's open gate, I gem the sky, That man might ne'er forget, in every fate, His home on high." " Not to myself alone," The heavy-laden bee doth murmuring hum, — " Not to myself alone, from flower to flower, I rove the wood, the garden, and the bower, And to the hive at evening weary come : For man, for man, the luscious food I pile, With busy care, Content if I repay my ceaseless toil With scanty share." " Not to myself alone," The soaring bird with lusty pinion sings, — " Not to myself alone I raise my song ; I cheer the drooping with my warbling tongue, And bear the mourner on my viewless wings ; I bid the hymnless churl my anthem learn, And God adore ; I call the worldling from his dross to turn, And siiur and soar." ■- " Not to myself alone," The streamlet whispers on its pebbly way, — " Not to myself alone I sparkling glide ; I scatter health and life on every side, And strew the fields with herb and floweret gay. NOT TO MYSELF ALONE. 113 I sing unto the common, bleak and bare, My gladsome tune ; I sweeten and refresh the languid air In droughty June." " Xot to myself alone," man ! forget not thou — earth's honored priest, Its tongue, its soul, its lip, its pulse, its heart — In earth's great chorus to sustain thy part ! Chiefest of guests at love's ungrudging feast. Play not the niggard ; spurn thy native clod, And self disown ; Live to thy neighbor, live unto thy God ; Xot to thyself alone ! PART IV. RELIGIOUS INSTRUCTION I. THE HEAVENLY FATHER. THE MOTHER'S PRAYER. Fain, my child, I 'd have thee know, The God whom angels love : And teach thee feeble strains below, Akin to theirs above. 118 TEACHING LITTLE CHILDREN. when thy lisping tongue shall read Of truths divinely sweet, May'st thou, a little child indeed, Sit down at Jesus' feet. 1 '11 move thine ear, I '11 point thine eye But ah ! the inward part — Great God, the Spirit ! hear the sigh That trembles through my heart ! Break, with thy vital beam benign, O'er all the mental wild ! Bright o'er the human chaos shine, And sanctify my child. Mrs. Voke. TEACHING LITTLE CHILDREN say not, think not, heavenly notes To childish ears are vain, — That the young mind at random floats, And cannot reach the strain. Was not our Lord a little child, Taught by degrees to pray, By father dear and mother mild Instructed day by day ? THE PURE IN HEART. 119 And loved he not of heaven to talk With children in his sight, To meet them in his daily walk, And to his arms invite ? And though some tones be weak and low, What are all prayers beneath, But cries of babes, that cannot know Half the deep thought they breathe ? In his own words we Christ adore ; But angels, as we speak, Higher above our meaning soar Than we o'er children weak. And yet his words mean more than they, And yet he owns their praise ; 0, think not that he turns away From infants' simple lay Keble. THE PURE IH HEART Blest are the pure in heart. For they shall see our God, The secret of the Lord is theirs, Their soul is His abode. 120 THE CHILD AND THE ANGELS. Still to the lowly soul He doth Himself impart, And for His temple and His throne Selects the pure in heart. Keble THE CHILD AND THE ANGELS. The Sabbath's sun was setting low, Amidst the clouds at even ; " Our Father," breathed a voice below, — Father, who art in heaven." Beyond the earth, beyond the clouds, Those infant words were given ; " Our Father," angels sang aloud. — " Father, who art in heaven." " Thy kingdom come," still from the ground, That child-like voice did pray ; " Thy kingdom come," God's hosts resound, Far up the starry way. " Thy will be done," with little tongue, That lisping love implores ; " Thy will be done," the angelic throng Sing from the heavenly shores. GOD OUR FATHER. 121 " Forever,'* still those lips repeat, Their closing evening prayer ; " Forever," floats in music sweet, High 'midst the angels there." Charles Swaix. GOD OUR FATHER. "We are not orphans on the earth, Though friends and parents die ; One Parent never bows to death, — One Friend is ever nigh. Even he who lit the stars of old, And filled the ocean broad, Whose works and ways are manifold, — Our father is our God. There comes no change upon his years, No failure to his hand ; His love will lighten all our cares, His law our steps command. May Christ who for our sakes the gloom Of death's dark valley trod, Bring us all safe at last to him, — Our Father and our God ! Sunday-School Hymns. 6 122 FEAR NOT. GOD IS NEAR. I will not fear, For God is near, Through the dark night, As in the light ; And while I sleep, Safe watch will keep, Why should I fear, "When God is near ? Hymns for Little Ones at Home. FEAR NOT. Yea, fear not, fear not little ones ; There is in heaven an Eye That looks with yearning fondness down On all the paths ye try. 'T is He who guides the sparrow's wing, And guards her little brood ; Who hears the ravens when they cry, And fills them all with food. 'T is He who clothes the field with flowers, And pours the light abroad ; 'T is He who numbers all your hours. Your Father and your God. GOD SEES ME. 123 Ye are the chosen of his love, His most peculiar care ; And will he guide the fluttering dove, And not regard your prayer ? Nay, fear not, fear not, little ones ; There is in heaven an Eye That looks with yearning fondness down On all the paths you try. He '11 keep you when the storm is wild, And when the flood is near ; trust him, trust him as a child, And you have naught to fear ! GOD SEES ME. Through all the busy daylight, through all the quiet night, Whether the stars in the sky, or the sun is shining bright ; In the nursery, in the parlor ; in the street, or on the stair, — Though I may seem to be alone, yet God is always there. Whatever I may do, Wherever I may be, Although I see him not, Yet God sees me. 124 GOD SEES ME. He knows each word I mean to speak, before the word is spoken ; 1I«' knows the thoughts within my heart, although I give no token. When I am naughty, then I grieve my Heavenly Father's love ; And, every time I really try, he helps me from above. Whatever I may do, Wherever I may be, Although I see him not, Yet God sees me. I have kind and tender parents ; I have many loving friends : But none love me as God loves me ; and all that 's good he sends. I will walk as God shall lead me, while the sun is in the sky; And lay me down, and sleep in peace, beneath his watchful eye. Whatever I may do, Wherever I may be, Although I see him not, Yet God sees me. Hymns for Young Children. god's care. 125 GOD LOVES ME. God cares for every little child That on this large earth liveth : He gives them homes and food and clothes ; And more than these God giveth ; — He gives them all their loving friends ; He gives each child its mother ; He gives them all the happiness Of loving one another ; He makes the earth all beautiful ; He makes thine eyes to see ; And touch and hearing, taste and smell, He gives them all to thee. What can a little child give God ? From his bright heavens above The great God smiles, and reaches down To take his children's love. Hymns for Young Children. GOD'S CARE What secret hand, at morning light, Softly unseals mine eye, 126 GOD IS GOOD. Draws back the curtain of the night, And opens earth and sky ? 'Tis thine, my God, — the same that kept My resting hours from harm ; No ill came nigh me, for I slept Beneath the Almighty's arm. 'T is thine my daily bread that brings, Like manna scattered round, And clothes me, as the lily springs In beauty from the ground. In death's dark valley though I stray, 'T would there my steps attend, Guide with the staff my lonely way, And with the rod defend. May that sure hand uphold me still Through life's uncertain race, To bring me to thy holy hill, And to thy dwelling-place. Montgomery GOD IS GOOD. God is good ! each perfumed flower, The smiling fields, the dark green wood, GOD IS GOOD. 127 The insect, fluttering for an hour, — . All things proclaim that God is good. I hear it in each breath of wind ; Hills that have for ages stood, And clouds, with gold and silver lined, Are still repeating, God is good. Each little rill, that many a year Has the same verdant path pursued, And every bird, in accents clear, Joins in the song, that God is good. The restless sea, with haughty roar, Calms each wild wave and billow rude, Retreats submissive from the shore, And swells the chorus, " God is good." The countless hosts of twinkling stars Sing his praise with light renewed ; The rising sun each day declares, In rays of glory, God is good. The moon that walks in brightness, says That God is good ! — and man, endued With power to speak his Maker's praise, Should still repeat that God is good. Mrs. Folijen. 128 WHO TAKES CARE. AVIIO TAKES CARE. In winter where can be the flowers, The leaves that look so green ? There 's not a bud in all the bowers, Nor daisy to be seen. And who will bring them back again, When pleasant spring comes out ? And plant them up and down the lane, Ajid spread them all about ? And who will bring the little lambs With wool as soft as silk, And teach them how to know their dams, And where to find the milk ? And who will teach the little birds To build their nests on high, And, though they cannot speak in words, To teach their young to fly ? The Lord in Heaven — 'tis there he dwells Who all these things can do ; And his own book, the Bible, tells Much more about Him too. Sacred Songs for Sunday Schools. FLOWERS. 129 FLOWERS. God might have made the earth bring forth Enough for great and small, The oak-tree, and the cedar-tree, Without a flower at alL He might have made enough, enough For every want of ours ; For luxury, medicine, and toil, And yet have made no flowers. The clouds might give abundant rain, The nightly dews might fall, And the herb that keepeth life in man, Might yet have drunk them all. Then wherefore, wherefore were they made, And dyed with rainbow light, All fashioned with supremest grace, Upspringing day and night ? Springing in valleys green and low, And on the mountains high ; And in the silent wilderness, Where no man passes by ? 6* I 130 CHILDREN IN CHURCH. Our outward life requires them not, Then wherefore had they birth ? To minister delight to man ; To beautify the earth ; To comfort man, — to whisper hope Whene'er his faith is dim ; For whoso careth for the flowers, Will care much more for him ! Mary Howitt. CHILDREN IN CHURCH. When to the house of God we go, To hear his word and sing his love, We ought to worship him below, As saints and angels do above. They stand before his presence now, And praise him better far than we, — Who only at his footstool bow, And love him whom we cannot see. But God is present everywhere, And watches all our thoughts and ways He marks who humbly join in prayer, And who sincerely sing his praise. SEEKING GOD. 131 The triflers, too, his eye can see, Who only seem to take a part : They move the lip and bend the knee, But do not seek him with the heart. 0. may we never trifle so, Nor lose the days our God has given ; But learn, by Sabbaths here below, To spend eternity in heaven. SUXDAY-SCHOOL HYMXS. SEEKING GOD. We come in childhood's innocence, We come, as children, free ! We offer up, God ! our hearts In trusting love to thee. Well may we bend, in solemn joy, At thy bright courts above, — Well may the grateful child rejoice In such a Father's love. In joy we wake, in peace we sleep, Safe from all midnight harms, Not folded in an angel's wings, But in a Father's arms. 132 THE BEST OFFERING. We come not as the mighty come, Not as the proud we bow ; But as the pure in heart should bend, Seek we thine altars now. " Forbid them not," the Saviour said ; In speechless rapture dumb, # We hear the call, — we seek thy face, - Father, we come ! — we come ! THE BEST OFFERING. Lord, what offering shall we bring, At thine altar when we bow ? Hearts, the pure, unsullied spring Whence the kind affections flow ; Soft compassion's feeling soul, By the melting eye expressed ; Sympathy, at whose control Sorrow leaves the wounded breast. Willing hands to lead the blind, Bind the wounded, feed the poor ; Love, embracing all our kind, Charity, with liberal store. T. Gray, Jr THE GOLDEX RULE. 133 Teach us, thou heavenly King ! Thus to show our grateful mind ; Thus the accepted offering bring, — Love to thee and all mankind. Jane Taylor. THE GOLDEN RULE. Thus said Jesus : " Go, and do As thou wouldst be done unto." — Here thy perfect duty see, All that God requires of thee. Wouldst thou then rejoice to find Others generous, just, and kind ? Think upon these words, and do As thou wouldst be done unto. Wouldst thou, when thy faults are known, Wish that pardon should be shown ? Be forgiving then, and do As thou wouldst be done unto. Shouldst thou helpless be, and poor, Wouldst thou not for aid implore ? Think of others then, and be What thou wouldst they should to thee. 134 THE THRONE. For compassion if thou call, Be compassionate to all ; If thou wouldst affection find, Be affectionate and kind. If thou wouldst obtain the love Of thy gracious God above ; Then to all his children be What thou wouldst they should to thee. W. Roscoe. THE THRONE. What throne may bear the eternal God, Who fills unbounded space ? What palace boast his bright abode, What world his dwelling-place ? Ye stars, that gem yon glorious vault, Above, beneath, around ! Who most your Maker's praise exalt, Through nature's unknown bound ; Ye sons of light, your God's first-born ! Who saw, from distant spheres, The dawn of this earth's natal morn, And all its future years ; HYMN. 135 Ask ye where dwells the eternal God ? What planets bear his feet ? What clustered suns are his abode, His burning, dazzling seat ? There is a throne your God will grace, — The pure and lowly heart ; There will he choose his dwelling-place, And never thence depart. HYMN. The glorious God who reigns on high, Who formed the earth and built the sky. Stoops from his throne in heaven to hear A little infant's prattling prayer. Father of all ! my Father too ! make me good, and just, and true, — Make me delight to learn thy word, And love to pray and praise thee, Lord ! may thy gracious presence bless And guard my childhood's helplessness ! Be with me, as I grow in years, And guide me through this vale of tears. Mrs. Oilman. 136 OUR FATHER WHO ART IN HEAVEN. OUR FATHER WHO ART IN HEAVEN." Great God, and wilt thou condescend To be my father and my friend ? I a poor child, and thou so high, The Lord of earth, and air, and sky ! Art thou my Father ? Canst thou bear To hear my poor, imperfect prayer ? Or stoop to listen to the praise That such a little one can raise ? Art thou my Father ? Let me be A meek, obedient child to thee ; And try in word, and deed, and thought To serve and please thee as I ought. Art thou my Father ? I '11 depend Upon the care of such a friend ; And only wish to do, and be, Whatever seemeth good to thee. Art thou my Father ? Then at last, When all my days on earth are past, Send down and take me, in thy love, To be thy better child above. Jane Taylor. II. THE GOOD SHEPHERD. SWEDISH MOTHER'S HYMN. BY FREDEKIKA BREMER. There r»itteth a dove, so white and fair. All on the lily spray. And she listeneth how to Jesus Christ The little children pray. Lightly she spreads her friendly wings, And to Heaven's gate hath sped, And unto the Father in heaven she bears The prayers which the children have said. And back she comes from Heaven's gate, And brings — that dove so mild ! — From the Father in heaven who hears her speak A blessing on every child. Then children lift up a pious prayer, — It hears whatever you say. That heavenly dove, so white and fair, All on the lily spray. Traxs. by Him Mary Hownr. 138 THE INFANT JESUS. "COME UNTO ME." As children once to Christ were brought, That he might bless them there, So now we little children ought To seek the same by prayer. And as so many years ago Poor babes his pity drew, I 'm sure he will not let me go Without a blessing too. Then while, this favor to implore, My little hands are spread, Do thou thy sacred blessing pour, Dear Jesus, on my head. Hymns fok Infant Minds. THE INFANT JESUS. What lovely infant can this be, That in the little crib I see ? So sweetly on the straw it lies, It must have come from Paradise. THE INFANT JESUS. 139 Who is that lady kneeling by, And gazing on, so tenderly ? 0, that is Mary, ever blest ; How full of joy her holy breast ! What man is that who seems to smile And look so blissful all the while ? 'T is holy Joseph, good and true ; The infant makes him happy too. Who makes the crib so bright and dear ? What voices sing so sweetly here ? Ah ! see, behind the window-pane, The little angels looking in ! Who are these people kneeling down. With crooked sticks, and hands so brown ? The shepherds ; on the mountain-top The little angels woke them up. The ox and ass, how still and mild They stand beside the holy child ; His little body underneath They warm so kindly with their breath. Hail, holy cave ! though dark thou be, The world is lighted up by thee, Hail, holy Babe ! creation stands And moves upon thy little hands. 140 HYMN. THE CHILDREN'S DESIRE. I think, when I read the sweet story of old, — How when Jesus was here among men, He once called little children as lambs to his fold, — I should like to have been with them then. I wish that his hands had been placed on my head, That his arms had been thrown around me ; And that I might have seen his kind look, when he said, " Let the little ones come unto me." Yet still to his footstool in faith I may go, And there ask for a share of his love : And I know, if I earnestly seek him below, I shall see him and hear him above, — In that beautiful place he has gone to prepare For all those who are washed and forgiven ; And many dear children are gathering there, " For of such is the Kingdom of Heaven." HYMN I want to be like Jesus, So lovely and so meek ; For no one marked an angry word, That ever heard him speak. Christ's love. 141 I want to be like Jesus, For I never, never find That he, though persecuted, was To any one unkind. I want to be like Jesus, Engaged in doing good, So that it may of me be said, " She hath done what she could." Alas ! I 'm not like Jesus, As any one may see ; gentle Saviour, send thy grace And make me like to thee ! Melodies for Childhood. CHRIST'S LOVE. See the kind Shepherd, Jesus, stands, With all engaging charms ; Hark, how he calls the tender lambs, And folds them in his arms ! Permit them to approach, he cries, Nor scorn their humble name ; For 't was to bless such souls as these The Lord of angels came. 142 COME TO ME. He '11 lead us to the heavenly streams Where living waters flow, And guide us to the fruitful fields Where trees of knowledge grow. The feeblest lamb amidst the flock Shall be its Shepherd's care ; While folded in the Saviour's arms, We 're safe from every snare. Sunday-School Hymn-Book. COME TO ME. " Little children, come to me ; " This is what the Saviour said ; Little children, come and»see Where those blessed words are read, Thus ye hear the Saviour speak : " Come ye all, and learn of me, I am gentle, lowly, meek ; " So should little children be. When our Saviour from above From his Father did descend, Taken in his arms of love, Children saw in him their friend. LET THEM COME. 143 Jesus little children blessed ; Blest in innocence they are ; Little children, thus caressed, Praise him in your infant prayer ! FOLLEX. LET THEM COME. " Let them come, the little children, To my fold and to my breast," Said the gentle, loving Saviour, As the children round him pressed. May we come, all false and sinning, With our passions all aglow ? Did he welcome thus the children ? Would he meet and bless us so ? He can help us in our passion, — Teach us how to turn away From the power of each temptation That would lead our lives astray. But to have his smile and favor, — To be called the Saviour's own, — We must all be true and tender, Seeking, loving good alone. 144 FORGIVENESS. Help us, help us, gentle Jesus ! We are very weak and small ; Stand between us and the evil ; Guide us through and over all. We will struggle daily, hourly, That we may by thee be blest : To thy fold let us enter ! Take us to thy loving breast. FORGIVENESS. When, for some little insult given, My angry passions rise, I '11 think how Jesus came from heaven, And bore his injuries. He was insulted every day, Though all his words were kind ; But nothing men could do or say Disturbed his heavenly mind. Not all the wicked scoffs he heard, Against the truths he taught, Excited one reviling word, Or one revengeful thought. jesus. 145 And when upon the cross he bled, With all his foes in view, " Father, forgive their sins," he said ; " They know not what they do." Dear Jesus, may I learn of thee My temper to amend ; And speak the pardoning word for me, Whenever I offend. Jake Tatlor. JESUS Feeble, helpless, how shall I Learn to live, and learn to die ? Who, God ! my guide shall be ? Who shall lead thy child to thee ? Blessed Father, gracious one ! Thou hast sent thy holy Son ; He will give the light I need, He my trembling steps will lead. Through this world, uncertain, dim, Let me ever lean on him ; From his precepts wisdom draw, Make his life my solemn law. 146 "GIVE ME THY HEART." Thus in deed, and thought, and word, Led by Jesus Christ the Lord, In my weakness, thus shall I Learn to live, and learn to die ; — Learn to live in peace and love, Like the perfect ones above ; Learn to die without a fear, Feeling thee, my Father, near. FURNESS. "GIVE ME THY HEART." Hear ye not a voice from heaven, To the listening spirit given ? " Children, come ! " it seems to say, " Give your hearts to me me to-day." Sweet as is a mother's love, Tender as the heavenly Dove, Thus it speaks a Saviour's charms, Thus it wins us to his arms. Lord, may we remember thee, While from pain and sorrow free ; While our day is in its dew, And the clouds of life are few. SHEPHERD OF ISRAEL. 14" Then, when night and age appear, Thou wilt chase each doubt and fear ; Thou our glorious leader be, When the stars shall fade and flee. Xow to thee, Lord ! we come, In our morning's early bloom ; Breathe on us thy grace divine, Touch our hearts, and make them thine. SUSDAY-SCHOOL HYMNS. SHEPHERD OF ISRAEL. Shepherd of Israel, hear my prayer, And to my cry give heed ; Shepherd of Israel, lead me where Thy flocks in safety feed. Whether upon the barren hills, Or on the desert bare, Strike but thy rod, the purest rills And greenest herbs are there. The shadow of a mighty rock Is in that weary land, And heavenly dews fall on the flock Protected by thy hand. 148 FOR A CHRISTIAN CHILD. The winds that blight, the wolves that slay, In vain their fury spend ; Thy crook of love points out the way, Thy gracious arms defend. Lead me, lead me to thy fold ! Earth has no rest beside ; Shepherd of Israel, known of old, Be only thou my guide. Whether the way be dark and drear, Or flowery, bright, and fair, Shepherd of Israel, be thou near, And keep my footsteps there. Whether where trees of Lebanon Or tents of Kedar rise, Shepherd of Israel, lead me on — My home is in the skies. Sacred Offering. FOR A CHRISTIAN CHILD. Seeing I am Jesus' lamb, Ever glad at heart I am O'er my Shepherd kind and good, Who provides me daily food, And his lamb by name doth call, For he knows and loves us all. CHRISTMAS. 149 Guided by his gentle staff Where the sunny pastures laugh, I go in and out and feed, Lacking nothing that I need ; When I thirst, my feet he brings To the fresh and living springs. Must I not rejoice for this ? He is mine, and I am his ; And when these bright days are past, Safely in his arms at last He will bear me home to heaven ; Ah, what joy hath Jesus given ! Louis H. vox Haym. CHRISTMAS. 'T is Christmas day ! glad voices Repeat the pleasant sound ; And happy faces in our home, And loving looks, abound. Why do we thus greet Christmas morn ? It is the day that Christ was born. With little gifts that tell our love, With garlands on the wall, With thankful hearts and helpful hands, We keep a festival. 1 50 CHRISTMAS. Why do we thus keep Christmas morn ? It is the day that Christ was born. Full eighteen hundred years ago Christ Jesus came on earth, — He came, he lived, he died for us : We thank God for his birth ; And therefore we keep Christmas morn, The day our Saviour, Christ, was born. And on this Christmas morning, When the frost is at the door, Dear child ! in your warm, pleasant home, Think of the sick and poor : So shall you well keep Christmas morn, The day our Saviour, Christ, was born. Christ healed the sick, and helped the poor, When he was on the earth : Do what you can to be like him This morning of his birth ; Help some one to keep Christmas morn, The day your Saviour, Christ, was born. Hymns fob Young Children. JESUS AND THE DOVE. 151 JESUS AND THE DOVE A CATHOLIC LEGEXD. With patient hand Jesus in clay once wrought, And made a snowy dove that upward flew: Dear child, from all things draw some holy thought, That, like his dove, they may fly upward too. Mary, the mother good and mild, Went forth one summer's day, That Jesus and his comrades all In meadows green might play. To find the brightest, freshest flowers, They search the meadows round, They twined them all into a wreath, And little Jesus crowned. Tired of play, they came at last And sat at Mary's feet, While Jesus asked his mother dear A story to repeat. " And we," said one, " from out this clay Will make some little birds, So shall we all sit quietly And heed the mother's words." 152 JESUS AND THE DOVE. Then Mary, in her gentle voice, Told of a little child, Who lost her way one dark, dark night Upon a dreary wild ; And how an angel came to her, And made all bright around, And took the trembling little one From off the damp, hard ground ; And how he bore her in his arms Up to the blue so far, And how he laid her fast asleep, Down in a silver star. The children sit at Mary's feet, But not a word they say, So busily their fingers work To mould the birds of clay. But now the clay that Jesus held And turned unto the light, » And moulded with a patient touch, Changed to a perfect white. And slowly grew within his hands A fair and gentle dove, Whose eyes unclose, whose wings unfold, Beneath his look of love. JESUS AND THE DOVE. 153 The children drop their birds of clay, And by his side they stand, To look upon the wondrous dove He holds within his hand. And when he bends and softly breathes, Wide are the wings outspread, And when he bends and breathes again, It hovers round his head. Slowly it rises in the air Before their eager eyes, And with a white and steady wing, Higher and higher flies. The children all stretch forth their arms, As if to draw it down : " Dear Jesus made the little dove From out the clay so brown. " Canst thou not live with us below, Thou little dove of clay, And let us hold thee in our hands, And feed thee every day ? " The little dove, it hears us not, But higher still doth fly ; It could not live with us below, Its home is in the sky." 7* 154 NEW year's eve. Mary, who silently saw all, That mother true and mild, Folded her hands upon her breast, And kneeled before her child. Maria Lowell. NEW YEAR'S EVE. The following stanzas are a translation, or rather adaptation, from a Swedish tale, by Andersen. Little Gretchen, little Gretchen, Wanders up and down the street, The snow is on her yellow hair, The frost is at her feet. The rows of long dark houses Without, look cold and damp, By the struggling of the moonbeam, By the flicker of* the lamp. The clouds ride fast as horses, The wind is from the north, But no one cares for Gretchen, And no one looketh forth. Within those dark, damp houses Are merry faces bright, And happy hearts are watching out The old year's latest night. new year's eye. 155 The board is spread with plenty, Where the smiling kindred meet ; But the frost is on the pavement, And the beggars in the street. With the little box of matches She could not sell all day, And the thin, thin tattered mantle The wind blows every way. She clingeth to the railing, She shivers in the gloom, — There are parents sitting snugly By firelight in the room ; And groups of busy children, Withdrawing just the tips Of rosy fingers presseji in vain Against their burning lips, With grave and earnest faces, Are whispering each other Of presents for the new year, made For father or for mother. But no one talks to Gretchen, And no one hears her speak, No breath of little whisperers Comes warmly to her cheek ; 156 new year's eve. No little arms are round her, Ah me ! that there should be, With so much happiness on earth, So much of misery ! Sure they of many blessings Should scatter blessings round, As laden boughs in autumn fling Their ripe fruits to the ground. And the best love man can offer To the God of love, be sure, Is kindness to his little ones, And bounty to his poor. Little Gretchen, little Gretchen Goes coldly on her way ; There 's no one looketh out at her, There 's no one bids her stay. Her home is cold and desolate, No smile, no food, no fire, But children clamorous for bread, And an impatient sire. So she sits down in an angle, Where two great houses meet, And she curleth up beneath her, For warmth, her little feet. NEW year's eve. 157 And she looketh on the cold wall, And on the colder sky, And wonders if the little stars Are bright fires up on high. She heard a clock strike slowly, Up in a far church-tower, With such a sad and solemn tone, Telling the midnight hour. Then all the bells together Their merry music poured ; They were ringing in the feast, The circumcision of the Lord. And she thought as she sat lonely, And listened to the chime, Of wondrous things that she had loved To hear in the olden time. And she remembered her of tales Her mother used to tell, And of the cradle-songs she sang, When summer's twilight fell ; — Of good men and of angels, And of the Holy Child, Who was cradled in a manger. When winter was most wild. 158 Who was poor, and cold, and hungry, And desolate and lone ; And she thought the song had told He was ever with his own. And all the poor and hungry, And forsaken ones are his : " How good of him to look on me, In such a place as this." Colder it grows and colder, But she does not feel it now, For the pressure at her heart, And the weight upon her brow. But she struck one little match On the wall so cold and bare, That she might look around her, And see if He were there. The single match has kindled, And by the light it threw, It seemed to little Gretchen, The wall was rent in two. And she could see the room within, The room all warm and bright, With the fire-glow red, and dusky, And the tapers all alight. NEW year's eve. 159 And there were kindred gathered, Round the table richly spread, With heaps of goodly viands, Red wine, and pleasant bread. She could smell the fragrant savor, She could hear what they did say, Then all was darkness once again, The match had burned away. She struck another hastily, And now she seemed to see, Within the same warm chamber, A glorious Christmas-tree. The branches were all laden With such things as children prize, — Bright gift for boy and maiden, She saw them with her eyes. And she almost seemed to touch them, And to join the welcome shout ; When darkness fell around her, For the little match was out. Another, yet another, she Has tried ; they will not light, Till all her little store she took, And struck with all her might. 160 And the whole miserable place Was lighted with the glare, And lo ! there hung a little child Before her in the air. There were blood-drops on his forehead, And a spear-wound in his side, And cruel nail-prints in his feet, And in his hands spread wide. And he looked upon her gently, And she felt that he had known Pain, hunger, cold, and sorrow, Ay, equal to her own. And he pointed to the laden board, And to the Christmas-tree, Then up to the cold sky, and said, " Will Gretchen come with me?" The poor child felt her pulses fail, She felt her eyeballs swim, And a ringing sound was in her ears, Like her dead mother's hymn. And she folded both her thin white hands, And turned from that bright board, And from the golden gifts, and said, " With thee, with thee, Lord." NEW year's eve. 161 The chilly winter morning Breaks up in the dull skies, On the city wrapt in vapor, On the spot where Gretchen lies. The night was wild and stormy, The morn is cold and gray, And good church-bells are ringing, Christ's circumcision day. And holy men were praying In many a holy place ; And little children's angels Sing songs before his face. In her scant and tattered garment, With her back against the wall, She sitteth cold and rigid, She answers not their call. They have lifted her up fearfully, They shuddered as they said, " It was a- bitter, bitter night, The child is frozen dead." The angels sang their greeting, For one more redeemed from sin ; Men said, " It was a bitter night, Would no one let her in ? " 102 AN EASTERN LEGEND. And they shuddered as they spoke of her, And sighed : they could not see, How much of happiness there was With so much misery. AN EASTERN LEGEND. One evening Jesus lingered in the market-place, Teaching the people parables of truth and grace, When in the square remote a crowd was seen to rise, And stop, with loathing gestures and abhorring cries. The Master and his meek disciples went to see What cause for this commotion and disgust could be, And found a poor dead dog beside the gutter laid ; Revolting sight ! at which each face its hate betrayed. One held his nose, one shut his eyes, one turned away ; And all among themselves began aloud to say : " Detested creature! " "He pollutes the earth and air ! " " His eyes are blear ! " " His ears are foul ! " " His ribs are bare ! " " In his torn hide there 's not a decent shoe-string left! " " No doubt the execrable cur was hung for theft ! " Then Jesus spake, and dropped on him this saving wreath, "Even pearls are dark before the whiteness of his teeth ! " LOVE TO JESUS. 1 ( > 3 The pelting crowd grew silent and ashamed, like one Rebuked by sight of wisdom higher than his own ; And one exclaimed, " No creature so accursed can be, But some good thing in him a loving eye will see." Alger's Eastern Poetry. LOVE TO JESUS. When Jesus Christ was here below, And spread his works of love abroad, If I had lived as long ago, I think I should have loved the Lord. Jesus, who was so very kind, Who came to pardon sinful men, Who healed the sick, and cured the blind — 0, must I not have loved him then ? But where is Jesus ? — is he dead ? no ! he lives in heaven above ; " And blest are they," the Saviour said, " Who, though they have not seen me, love." Jake Taylor. III. MORNING AND EVENING HYMNS. THE GUARDIAN ANGEL. Dear Angel ! ever at my side, How loving must thou be To leave thy home in Heaven to guard A little child like me ! Thy beautiful and shining face I see not, though so near ; The sweetness of thy soft, low voice I am too deaf to hear. I cannot feel thee touch my hand With pressure light and mild, To check me, as my mother did When I was but a child. But I have felt thee in my thoughts, Fighting with sin for me ; And when my heart loves God, I know The sweetness is from thee. THE GUARDIAN ANGEL. 165 And when, dear Spirit, I kneel down Morning and night to prayer, Something there is within my heart Which tells me thou art there. Yes ! when I pray, thou prayest too — Thy prayer is all for me ; And when I sleep, thou sleepest not, But watchest patiently. Ah me ! how lovely they must be Whom God has glorified ; Yet one of them, sweetest thought ! Is ever at my side. And thou in life's last hour wilt bring A fresh supply of grace, And afterwards wilt let me kiss Thy beautiful bright face. Then for thy sake, dear Angel ! now More humble will I be : But I am weak, and when I fall, weary not for me ; But love me, love me, Angel dear ! And I will love thee more ; And help me when my soul is cast Upon the eternal shore. F. W. Fabek. 166 child's sOxNG. BIRDS AND ANGELS. High the feathered warblers fly, Singing in the clear blue sky; Higher still the angels soar, And sing in Heaven evermore. Birds, come rest your wings awhile, With me here the hours beguile ; Angels, downward turn your love, Tell me of the joys above. Songs from the German. CHILD'S SONG. FROM THE GERMAN. When at night I go to sleep, Fourteen angels are at hand ; — Two on my right their watches keep ; Two on my left to bless me stand ; Two hover gently o'er my head ; Two guard the foot of my small bed ; Two wake mo with the sun's first ray ; Two dress me nicely every day ; Two guide me on the heavenly road That leads to Paradise and God. Mrs. Follen. THE ANGELS. 167 THE ANGELS. " Where are the angels, mother ? Though you have often said They watched at night around me, And safely kept my bed ; " Though every night I listen Their voices low to hear, Yet I have never heard them — Where are they, mother dear ? " And when the silver moonshine Fills all my room with light, And when the stars are shining, So countless and so bright, " I hope to see them coming, With their fair forms, to me ; Yet I have never seen them — Mother, where can they be ? " I saw a cloud, this evening, Red with the setting sun ; It was so very lovely, I thought it might be one. 168 THE ANGELS. " But when it faded slowly, I knew it could not be, For they are always shining — Why come they not to me ? " " My child, when through your window Shines down the moonlight clear, — When all is still and silent, And no kind friend is near, — " Are you not glad and happy, And full of thoughts of love ? Do you not tliink of heaven, That brighter land above ? " These thoughts the angels bring you ; And though the gentle tone Of their sweet voices comes not When you are all alone ; " Yet they are always leaving, For earth, their homes on high ; And though you cannot see them, You feel that they are nigh." I WANT TO BE AN ANGEL. 169 I WANT TO BE AN ANGEL. I want to be an angel, And with the angels stand ; A crown upon my forehead, And a harp within my hand. Then, right before my Saviour, So glorious and so bright, I 'd make the sweetest music, And praise him day and night. I never should be weary, Nor ever shed a tear. Nor ever know a sorrow, Nor ever feel a fear. But, blessed, pure, and holy, I 'd dwell in Jesus' sight ; And with ten thousand thousand, Praise him both day and night. I know 1 'm weak and sinful, But Jesus will forgive ; For many little children Have gone to heaven to live. Dear Saviour, when I languish, And lay me down to die, send a shining angel To bear me to the sky ! 8 170 0, there I '11 be an angel, And with the angels stand ; A crown upon my forehead, A harp within my hand ! And there, before my Saviour, So glorious and so bright, I '11 join the heavenly music And praise him day and night ! Melodies for Childhood. A CHILD'S PRAYER. Lord, teach a little child to pray, And oh ! accept my prayer ; Thou canst hear all the words I say, For thou art everywhere. A little sparrow cannot fall Unnoticed, Lord, by thee ; And though I am so young and small, Thou dost take care of me. Teach me to do whate'er is right, And when I sin, forgive ; And make it still my chief delight To serve thee while I live. THE LORD'S PRAYER. 171 BEAR EACH OTHER'S BURDENS/ Help us to help each other, Lord, Each other's cross to bear ; Let each his friendly aid afford, And feel his brother's care. Help us to build each other up ; Our little stock improve ; Increase our faith, confirm our hope, And perfect us in love. L T p into thee, our living Head, Let us in all things grow, Till thou hast made us free indeed, And spotless here below. THE LORD'S PRAYER. Our Father, who in heaven art, All hallowed be thy name ! Thy kingdom come, thy will be done In earth and heaven the same. Give us this day our daily bread ; Our trespasses forgive, As those who trespass against us Our pardon shall receive. 172 MORNING SONG. Into temptation lead us not, Deliver us from ill ; For thine the kingdom, thine the power, And thine the glory still ! Sacred Offering. THE SUN Get up, dear children, see ! the sun His shining course has just begun ! So like a giant he comes forth To run his course and light the earth. Welcome, thrice welcome, lovely day ! Thou chasest darksome night away ; that our hearts, like thee, were bright With Heaven's own purifying light ! German Songs. MORNING SONG. With the dawn awaking, Lord, I sing thy praise ; Guide me to thee, making Me to know thy ways. All thy precepts keeping Whole and undefiled, Waking, Lord, or sleeping, Let me be thy child. Ibid. PRAYER. 173 PRAYER. Wake, little child, the morn is gay, The air is fresh and cool ; But pause awhile, and kneel to pray Before you go to merry play, Before you go to school. Kneel down and speak the holy words : God loves your simple prayer Above the sweet songs of the birds, The bleating of the gentle herds, The flowers that scent the air. And when the quiet evenings come, And dew-drops wet the sod, When bats and owls begin to roam, And flocks and herds are driven home. Then kneel again to God. Because you need him day and night, To shield you with his arm ; To help you always to do right, To feed your soul and give it light, And keep you safe from harm. Melodies for Ciiildhood. 174 MORNING HYMN. MORNING HYMN. Awake, my soul, and with the sun Thy daily stage of duty run ; Shake off dull sloth, and joyful rise To pay thy morning sacrifice. Wake, and lift up thyself, my heart, And with the angels bear thy part, Who all night long unwearied sing High praises to the Eternal King. Glory to thee, who safe hast kept, And hast refreshed me while I slept : Grant, Lord, when I from death shall wake, I may of endless life partake. Lord, I to thee my vows renew ; Dispel my sins as morning dew ; Guard my first springs of thought and will, And with thyself my spirit fill. , Direct, control, suggest, this day, All I design, or do, or say, That all my powers, with true delight, To thy sole glory may unite. Bishop Ken>\ EVENING HYMN. 175 MORNING HYMN. God ! I thank thee that the night In peace and rest hath passed away ; And that I see, in this fair light, My Father's smile, which makes it day. Be thou my Guide, and let me live As under thine all-seeing eye : Supply my wants, my sins forgive, And make me happy when I die. Rev. J. Pierpoxt. EVENING HYMN. Another day its course hath run, And still, God ! thy child is blest ; For thou hast been by day my sun, And thou wilt be by night my rest. Sweet sleep descends, mine eyes to close ; And now, when all the world is still, I give my body to repose, My spirit to my Father's will. Ibid 176 GOOD NIGHT. GOOD NIGHT. The sun is hidden from our sight, The birds are sleeping sound ; 'T is time to say to all, " Good night ! " And give a kiss all round. Good night ! my father, mother, dear, Now kiss your little son ; Good night ! my friends, both far and near, Good night to every one. Good night ! ye merry, merry birds, Sleep well till morning light ; Perhaps if you could sing in words, You would have said, " Good night ! " To all my pretty flowers, good night ! You blossom while I sleep ; And all the stars, that shine so bright, With you their watches keep. The moon is lighting up the skies, The stars are sparkling there ; 'T is time to shut our weary eyes, And say our evening prayer. Mrs. Foixex EVENING HYMN. 177 THE GOOD BOY'S HYMN ON GOING TO BED. How sweet to lay my weary head Upon my quiet little bed, And feel assured, that all day long I have not knowingly done wrong ! How sweet to hear my mother say, " You have been very good to-day ! '* How sweet to see my father's joy When he can say, " My dear, good boy ! " How sweet it is my thoughts to send To many a dear-loved distant friend, And feel, if they my heart could see, How very happy they would be ! How sweet to think that He whose love Made all these shining worlds above, My pure and happy heart can see, And loves a little boy like me ! Mrs. Follen. EVENING HYMN. Now the sun hath gone so rest, Stars are coming faint and dim, And the bird within his nest Sweetly sings his evening hymn. 8* 178 EVENING HYMN. Have I tried mamma to mind ? Was I gentle in my play ? Have I been a true and kind, Pleasant little girl to-day ? EVENING HYMN. Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me ; Bless thy little lamb to-night : Through the darkness be thou near me, Watch my sleep till morning light. All this day thy hand has led me, And I thank thee for thy care ; Thou hast clothed me, warmed, and fed me ; Listen to my evening prayer. Let my sins be all forgiven, Bless the friends I love so well ; Take me, when I die, to heaven, Happy there with thee to dwell. M. L. Duxcan. EVENING HYMN. God has kept me, dearest mother, Kindly, safely, through the day ; EVENING HYMN. IT-' Let me thank him for his goodness, Ere the twilight fades away. For my home and friends I thank him, For my father, mother, dear : For the hills, the trees, the flowers, And the sky so bright and clear. If I have been kind and gentle, If I 've spoken what was true. Or if I Ve been cross and selfish. He has seen and known it. too. Those I love he will watch over. Though they may be far away. For he loves good little children. And will hear the words the*- sav. EVENING HYMN. Thou, from whom we never parr. Thou, whose love is everywhere, Thou, who seest every heart. Listen to our evening prayer. Father ! fill our souls with love, — Love unfailing, full, and free, Love no injury can move, Love that ever rests on thee. 180 EVENING HYMN. Heavenly Father ! through the night Keep us safe from every ill ; Cheerful as the morning light, May we wake to do thy will. Mrs. Follen. EVENING HYMN. Before I close my eyes to-night, Let me myself these questions ask : Have I endeavored to do right, Nor thought my duty was a task ? Have I been gentle, lowly, meek, And the small voice of conscience heard ? When passion tempted me to speak, Have I repressed the angry word ? Have I with cheerful zeal obeyed What my kind parents bid me do, And not by word or action said The thing that was not strictly true ? In hard temptation's troubled hour, Then have I stopped to think and pray, That God would give my soul the power To chase the sinful thought away ? EVENING HYMN. 181 Thou who seest all my heart, Wilt thou forgive and love me still ! Wilt thou to me new strength impart, And make me love to do thy will ! Mrs. Follek. EVENING HYMN. Glory to thee, my God ! this night, For all the blessings of the light : Keep me, keep me, King of kings, Beneath the shadow of thy wings ! Forgive me, Lord, through thy dear Son, The ills which I this day have done ; That with the world, myself, and thee, I, ere I sleep, at peace may be. Teach me to live, that I may dread The grave as little as my bed ; Teach me to die, that so I may Rise joyful at the judgment-day. Be thou my guardian while I sleep ; Thy watchful station near me keep ; My heart with love celestial fill, And guard me from the approach of ill. I s - AN EVENING PRAYER. Lord, let my heart forever share The bliss of thy paternal care : 'Tis heaven on earth, 'tis heaven above, To see thy face and sing thy love. Bishop Kenn. AN EVENING PRAYER. Lord, thine eye is closed never ; When night casts o'er earth her hood, Thou remainest wakeful ever, And art like a shepherd good, Who, through every darksome hour, Tends his flock with watchful power. Grant, Lord ! that we thy sheep May this night in safety sleep ; And when we again awake, Give us strength our cross to take ; And to order all our ways To thine honor and thy praise. Or, if thou hast willed that I Must before the morning die, Into thy hands to the end, Soul and body I commend. Amen. Songs from the German. IV. MISCELLANEOUS. WISDOM. How happy is the child who hears Instruction's warning voice ; And who celestial wisdom makes His early, only choice. Wisdom has treasures greater far Than east or west unfold ; Aid her rewards more precious are Than is the gain of gold. She guides the young with innocence In pleasure's path to tread ; A crown of glory she bestows Upon the hoary head. According as her labors rise, So her rewards increase ; Her ways are ways of pleasantness, And all her paths are peace. 184 IMMORTAL BEAUTY. THE HOLY CHILD. By cool Siloam's shady rill How sweet the lily grows ! How sweet the breath, beneath the hill, Of Sharon's dewy rose ! Lo, such the child whose early feet The paths of peace have trod ; Whose secret heart, with influence sweet, Is upward drawn to God ! Thou, who giv'st us life and breath, We seek thy grace alone, In childhood, manhood, age, and death, To keep us still thine own ! Heber. f IMMORTAL BEAUTY. Sweet day ! so cool, so calm, so bright, Bridal of earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night, For thou, alas ! must die. Sweet rose ! in air whose odors wave, And color charms the eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou, alas ! must die. SUNDAY EVENING. 185 Sweet Spring ! of days and roses made, Whose charms for beaut y vie, Thy days depart, thy roses fade, Thou too, alas ! must die. Only a sweet and holy soul Hath tints that never fly ; While flowers decay, and seasons roll, This lives, and cannot die. George Herbert. SUNDAY EVENING. 'T was night, and o'er the desert moor The wintry storm-gusts wildly blew, And so we closed our cottage door And round our cheerful wood-fire drew Each joined the hymn of evening praise, Then told a tale of Bible days. First Charley, in his little chair, With sober face, his tale began, And told us of the faith and prayer Of Daniel in the lion's den ; And how the lions were afraid To kill the righteous man who prayed. Then Henry spoke of Israel's guide, — The cloud by day, the fire by night, 186 SUNDAY EVENING. And said, whatever might betide, To trust in God is always right ; For he is still, to those who pray, A fire by night, a cloud by day. And little Freddy told of three Who once a fiery furnace trod, Because they would not bow the knee In worship to an idol-god ; And how, to save them from the flame, The Son of God in glory came. Then little Susan told of One Who kindly all our sorrows bore — Though rich in heaven, on earth became For us so very, very poor, That, though the foxes had a bed, He had not where to lay his head. The tale was told, — a crystal tear Rose brightly to each sparkling eye, And then in accents soft and clear Our evening hymn again rolled high ; Each little girl, each little boy Joined in the strains of solemn joy. Then grandpa prayed, — that dear old man, Witli wrinkled brow and hoary hair, While all the little children ran To kneel around his elbow-chair. THE DELUGE. 187 And thus the Sunday evening passed. In peace and pleasure to the last. Choice Poems. THE TEX COMMANDMENTS. EXODUS, CHAP. XX. 1. Thou shalt have no more gods but me ; 2. Before no idol bow thy knee. 3. Take not the name of God in Tain, 4. Xor dare the Sabbath day profane. 5. Give both thy parents honor due : 6. Take heed that thou no murder do. 7. Abstain from words and deeds unclean. v Xor steal though thou art poor and mean. 9. Xor make a wilful lie, nor love it. 10. TVhat is thy neighbor's dare not covet. THE DELUGE. A BAIN once fell upon the earth For many a day and night, And hid the flowers, the grass, the trees, The birds and beasts, from sight. The deep waves covered all the land, And mountain-tops so high ; 188 THE DELUGE. And nothing conld be seen around, But water, and the sky. But yet there was one moving thing, — A still and lonely ark, — That many a weary day and night Sailed o'er that ocean dark. At last, a little dove was forth From that lone vessel sent ; But, wearied, to the ark again, When evening came, she bent. Again she went, but soon returned, And in her beak was seen A little twig — an olive-branch — With leaves of shining green. The waters sank, and then the dove Flew from the ark once more, And came not back, but lived among The tree-tops, as before. Then from the ark they all came forth, With songs of joy and praise ; And once again the green earth smiled Beneath the sun's warm rays. THE STORY OF MOSES. 189 THE ARK AND DOVE. There was a noble ark, Sailing o'er waters dark And wild around ; Not one tall tree was seen, Nor flower, nor leaf of green — All, all was drowned. Then a soft wing was spread, And o'er the billows dread A meek dove flew ; But on that shoreless tide, No living thing she spied To cheer her view. So to the ark she fled, With weary, drooping head, To seek for rest : Christ is thy ark, my love, Thou art the tender dove ; Fly to his breast. Miss. SiGOURNEr. THE STORY OF MOSES " Tell me a Sunday story," A dear child said to me ; 190 THI$ STORY OF MOSES. And I bent down and kissed her And placed her on my knee. " Once, long ago, in countries Far, very far away, Where the cold snow-storm never comes, And all is bright and gay, " There lived a king, so cruel, He gave this stern command, That all the little children Must die, throughout the land. " But still there was one mother Who kept her baby dear, And quickly hushed its crying, In silence and in fear ; " But when she could no longer Her precious baby hide, She did not like to throw him Upon the rushing tide ; " And so a little basket She made, of rushes stout, And plastered it with clay and pitch To keep the water out. " Then in this basket-cradle She put the little child ; DAVID IN THE CAYE OF ADULLAM. 191 And quietly he floated down Among the rushes wild. " Just then the king's own daughter Came to the water's edge, And saw the basket floating Among the grass and sedge. " She drew it from the water. And called the babe her own, And kept him till to be a man That little boy had grown. " And when you read the Bible, — Which you will learn to do. — You '11 see how great and good he was, And how God loved him, too." DAVID JS THE CAVE OF ADULLAM. David and his three captains bold Kept ambush once within a hold. It was Adullam's cave, Nigh which no water they could have, Nor spring, nor running brook was near To quench the thirst that parched them there. Then David, king of Israel, Straight bethought him of a well, 192 DAVID IN THE CAVE OF ADULLAM. Which stood beside the city gate, At Bethle'm ; where, before his state Of kingly dignity, he had Oft drunk his fill, a shepherd lad ; But now his fierce Philistine foe Encamped before it he does know. Yet ne'er the less, with heat opprest, Those three bold captains he addrest ; And wished that one to him would bring Some water from his native spring. His valiant captains instantly To execute his will did fly. The mighty three the ranks broke through Of armdd foes, and water drew For David, their beloved king, At his own sweet, native spring. Back through their arm£d foes they haste, With the hard-earned treasure graced. But when the good king David found What they had done, he on the ground The water poured. " Because," said he, u That it was at the jeopardy Of your three lives this thing ye did, That I should drink it, God forbid." Charles Lamb HERODIAS'S DAUGHTER. HERODIAS'S DAUGHTER. on a charger there was laid, And brought before a royal maid, As price of attitude and gra c A gufltfei ■ holy face. It was on Herod's natal day. Who o'er Juda?a*s land held sway. He married his own brother's wife, Wicked Herodias. She the life Of John the Baptist long had sought, Because he openly had taught That she a life unlawful 1 Having her husband's brother wed. This was he. that saintly John. Who in the wilderness alone Abiding, did for clothing wear A garment made of camel' s-hair : Honey and locusts were his food, And he was most severely good. He preached penitence and x<: And waking first the sinner's fears. Prepared a path, made smooth a way, For his divin : 's day. Herod kept in princely state Efifl birthday. On his throne 9 x 194 HERODIAS'S DAUGHTER. After the feast, beholding her Who danced with grace peculiar ; Fair Salom6, who did excel All in that land for dancing well. The feastful monarch's heart was fired, And whatsoe'er thing she desired, Though half his kingdom it should be, He in his pleasure swore that he Would give the graceful Salome*. The damsel was Herodias' daughter. She to the queen hastes, and besought her To teach her what great gift to name. Instructed by Herodias, came The damsel back ; to Herod said, " Give me John the Baptist's head ; And in a charger let it be Hither straightway brought to me." Herod her suit would fain deny, But for his oath's sake must comply. A When painters would by art express Beauty in unloveliness, They, Herodias' daughter, thee The fittest subject take to be. They give thy form and features grace ; But ever in thy beauteous face They show a steadfast, cruel gaze, An eye unpitying ; and amaze In all beholders deep they mark, That thou betrayest not one spark THE SPARTAN BOY. 195 Of feeling for the ruthless deed, That did thy praiseful dance succeed. For on the head they make you look, As if a sullen joy you took A cruel triumph, wicked pride, That for your sport a saint had died. Charles La^ib. THE SPARTAN BOY. When I the memory repeat Of the heroic actions great, Which, in contempt of pain and death, Were done by men who drew their breath In ages past, I find no deed That can in fortitude exceed The noble boy, in Sparta bred, Who in the temple ministered. By the sacrifice he stands, The lighted incense in his hands ; Through the smoking censer's lid Dropped a burning coal, which slid Into his sleeve, and passed in Between the folds, e'en to the skin. Dire was the pain which then he proved ; But not for this his sleeve he moved, Or would the scorching ember shake Out from the folds, lest it should make Any confusion, or excite Disturbance at the sacred rite ; 196 ABOU-BEN-ADHEM. But close he kept the burning coal, Till it eat itself a hole In his flesh. The standers by Saw no sign and heard no cry. All this he did in noble scorn, And for he was a Spartan born. In this story thou mayest see That may useful prove to thee. By this example thou wilt find, That, to the ingenuous mind, Shame can greater anguish bring Than the body's suffering ; That pain is not the worst of ills, — Not when it the body kills ; That in fair Religion's cause, For thy country, or the laws, When occasion dire shall offer, 'T is reproachful not to suffer. Mary Lamb ABOU-BEN-ADHEM. Abou-Ben-Adhem — may his tribe increase ! — Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw, within the moonlight of his room, Making it rich and like a lily's bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold. Exceeding peace had made Bcn-Adhem bold ; THE HEART A BELL. 197 And to the Presence in the room he said, " What writest thon ? " The vision raised his head, And, with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, " The names of those who love the Lord." " And is mine one ? " said Abou. " Nay, not so," Replied the angeli Abou spake more low, But cheerily still ; and said, " I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night He- came again, with a great wakening light, And showed the names whom love of God had blest ; And, lo ! Ben-Adhem's name led all the rest ! Leigh Hunt. THE HEART A BELL. Your heart is beating day by day : If it could speak, what would it say ? The hours of night its pulses tell ; — Have you, my child, considered well What means this restless little heart, That doth so well perform its part ? It is a little bell, whose tone Is heard by you and God alone. At your soul's door it hangs ; and there His Spirit stays witli loving care, And rings the bell, and deigns to wait To see if closed remains the gate. 198 PROFANITY. He rings and waits. then begin At once your prayer, " Lord, enter in ! " So when its time on earth is past, Your heart will beat no more at last ; And when its latest pulse is o'e*r, 'T will go and knock at Heaven's door ; And stand without, and patient wait, To see if Christ will ope the gate, And say : " Here endless joys begin, Here, faithful servant, enter in ! I was on earth thy cherished guest, And now in Heaven I give thee rest. Receive at length thy due reward ; Enjoy the blessings of thy Lord." Songs from the German. PROFANITY. Take not God's name in vain ; Speak not that holy name, — Not with a laughing lip, Not in thy playful game ; For the great God of all Heareth each word we say : He will remember it, In the great judgment-day. CONSCIENCE. 199 Hush ! for his hosts, unseen, Are watching over thee ; His angels spread their wings, Thy shelter kind to be. Wilt thou, with words profane, Rash and undutiful, Scatter thine angel-guards, Glorious and beautiful ? Honor God's holy name : Speak it with thought and care ; Sing it in holy hymns ; Breathe it in earnest prayer. But not with sudden cry, In thy light joy or pain : God will hold guilty all Who take his name in vain ! Sunday-School Hymns. CONSCIENCE When a foolish thought within Tries to take us in a snare, Conscience tells us, " It is sin," And entreats us to beware. If in something we transgress, And are tempted to deny, 200 CONSCIENCE. Conscience says, " Your fault confess ; Do not dare to tell a lie." In the morning when we rise, And would fain omit to pray, " Child, consider," Conscience cries ; " Should not God be sought to-day ? " When, within His holy walls, Far abroad our thoughts we send, Conscience often loudly calls, And entreats us to attend. When our angry passions rise, Tempting to revenge an ill ; " Now subdue it," Conscience cries ; " Do command your temper still." Thus, without our will or choice, This good monitor within, With a secret warning voice, Tells us to beware of sin. But if we should disregard While this friendly voice would call, Conscience soon will grow so hard That it will not speak at all. Hymns for Infant Minds. THE UNSEEN. 201 THE UNSEED. The wind blows down the largest tree, And yet the wind I cannot see. Playmates far off, that have been kind, My thought can bring before my mind ; The past by it is present brought, And yet I cannot see my thought. The charming rose perfumes the air, Yet I can see no perfumes there. Blithe robin's notes — how sweet, how clear, From his small bill they reach my ear ! And whilst upon the air they float, I hear, yet cannot see a note. When I would do what is forbid, By something in my heart I 'in chid ; "When good I think, then quick and pat The something says, " My child, do that." When I too near the stream would go, So pleased to see the waters flow, That something says, without a sound, " Take care, dear child ! you may be drowned." And for the poor whene'er I grieve, That something says, " A penny give." Thus spirits good and ill there be, Although invisible to me : Whate'er I do, they see me still. Then, good Spirits! guide my will. Adelaide Taylor. 9* 202 IMMORTALITY. ETERNITY. How long sometimes a day appears ! And weeks, how long are they ! Months move as slow as if the years Would never pass away. But even years are fleeting by, And soon must all be gone ; For day by day, as minutes fly, Eternity comes on. Days, months, and years must have an end : Eternity has none ! 'T will always have as long to spend As when it first begun. Great God ! although we cannot tell How such a thing can be, We humbly pray that we may dwell That long, long time with thee. Jane Taylor. IMMORTALITY. Yon butterfly, whose airy form Flits o'er the garden-wall, IMMORTALITY. 203 Was once a little crawling worm, And could not fly at all. The little worm was then enclosed Within a shell-like case, And there it quietly reposed Until its change took place. And now on red and purple wings It roves, as free as air, Visiting all the lovely things That make the earth so fair. And we — if humbly we behave, And do the will of God, And strive to follow, to our grave, The paths the saints have trod — Shall find a change more glorious far Than that which came to light, When, bursting through its prison bar, The butterfly took flight. Through Christ, who reigns above the skies, To us it will be given Aloft on angels' wings to rise, And taste the joys of heaven. SOMSS FROM THE GERMA>\ 20-4 THE STARS. THE STARS " Stars, that on your wondrous way Travel through the evening sky, Is there nothing you can say To a child so small as I ? Tell me — for I long to know — Who has made you sparkle so ? " " Child, as truly as we roll Through the dark and distant sky, You have an immortal soul, Born to live when we shall die : Suns and planets pass away, Spirits never can decay. " When, some thousand years at most. All their little time have spent, One by one our sparkling host Shall forsake the firmament, We shall from our glory fall ; You must live beyond us all. " Yes, and God, who bade us roll, God, who hung us in the sky, Stoops to watch an infant's soul, With a condescending eye, And esteems it dearer far, More in value than a star ! A CHRISTMAS HYMN. 205 " then, while your breath is given, Pour it out in fervent prayer, And beseech the God of Heaven To receive your spirit there ; As a living star to blaze Ever to your Saviour's praise.'' HY3IXS FOR lNFA>'T MlNDS. A CHRISTMAS HYMN. It was the calm and silent night ! Seven hundred years and fifty-three Had Rome been growing up to might, And now was queen of land and sea ! No sound was heard of clashing wars, Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain ; Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and Mars Held undisturbed their ancient reign, — In the solemn midnight, Centuries ago ! 'T was in the calm and silent night ! The senator of haughty Rome Impatient urged his chariot's flight, From lordly revel rolling home. Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell His breast with thoughts of boundless sway 206 A CHRISTMAS HYMN. What recked the Roman what befell A paltry province far away, — In the solemn midnight, Centuries ago ? Within that province far away Went plodding home a weary boor ; A streak of light before him lay, Fallen through a half-shut stable door Across his path. He paused, for naught Told what was going on within : How keen the stars, his only thought ; The air how calm, and cold, and thin, — In the solemn midnight, Centuries ago ! strange indifference ! — low and high Drowsed over common joys and cares ; The earth was still, but knew not why : The world was listening — unawares ! How calm a moment may precede One that shall thrill the world forever ! To that still moment none would heed, Man's doom was linked, no more to sever. In the solemn midnight, Centuries ago ! It is the calm and silent night ! A thousand bells ring out, and throw Their joyous peals abroad, and smite The darkness, charmed and holy now ! FOREST SCENE IN THE DAYS OF WICKLIFF. 207 The night that erst no shame had worn, To it a happy name is given ; For in that stable lay, new-born, The peaceful Prince of earth and heaven, — In the solemn midnight, Centuries ago ! Alfred Dorxett. FOREST SCENE IN THE DAYS OF WICKLIFF. A little child, she read a book, Beside an open door ; And as she read page after page, She wondered more and more. Her little finger, carefully, Went pointing out the place ; Her golden locks hung drooping down, And shadowed half her face. The open book lay on her knee, Her eyes on it were bent ; And as she read page after page, Her color came and went. She sat upon a mossy stone, An open door beside ; And round, for miles on every side, Stretched out a forest wide. 208 FOREST SCENE IN THE DAYS OF WICKLIFF. The summer sun shone on the trees, — The deer lay in the shade ; And overhead the singing-birds Their pleasant clamor made. There was no garden round the house, And it was low and small ; The forest sward grew to the door, The lichens on the wall. There was no garden round about, Yet flowers were growing free ; The cowslip and the daffodil Upon the forest lea. The butterfly went flitting by ; The bees were in the flowers ; But the little child sat steadfastly, As she had sat for hours. " Why sit ye here, my little maid ? " An aged pilgrim spake ; The child looked upward from her book Like one but just awake. Back fell her locks of golden hair, And solemn was her look ; And thus she answered, witlessly, " sir, I read this book ! " FOREST SCENE IN THE DAYS OF WICKLIFF. 209 " And what is there within that book To win a child like thee ? Up ! join thy mates, the singing-birds, And frolic with the bee." •• Nay, sir, I cannot leave the book, I love it more than play ; I 've read all legends, out this one Ne'er saw I till to-day. " And there is something in this book That makes all care begone ; And yet I weep, I know not why, As I go reading on." " Who art thou, child, that thou shouldst read A book with mickle heed ? Books are for clerks ; — the king himself Hath much ado — to read." ; * My father is a forester, A bowman keen and good ; He keeps the deer within their bounds, And worketh in the wood. •• My mother died at Candlemas ; — The flowers are all in blow Upon her grave, at Allenby, Down in the vale below." 210 FOREST SCENE IN THE DAYS OF WICKLIFF. This said, unto her book she turned, As steadfast as before ; — " Nay," said the pilgrim, " nay, not yet, And you must tell me more. ** Who was it taught you thus to read ? " " Ah, sir ! it was my mother ; She taught me both to read and spell, And so she taught my brother. " My brother dwelt at Allenby, With the good monk alway ; And this new book he brought to me, But only for one day. " 0, sir, it is a wondrous book, Better than Charlemagne ; And be you pleased to leave me now, I '11 read in it again." " Nay, read to me," the pilgrim said ; And the little child went on To read of Christ, as is set forth In the Gospel of St. John. On, on she read, and gentle tears Adown her cheeks did glide ; The pilgrim sat with bended head, And he wept by her side. FOREST SCENE IN THE DATS OP WICKLIFF. 211 " I 've heard," said he, " the Archbishop, — I've heard the Pope, at Rome, — But never did their spoken words Thus to my spirit come. " The book, it is a blessed book, Its name, what may it be ? " Said she, " They are the words of Christ That I have read to thee, Now done into the English tongue, For folks unlearned as me." " Give me the book, and let me read, — My soul is strangely stirred ; They are such words of love and truth As I ne'er before have heard." The little girl gave up the book, And the pilgrim, old and brown, With reverend lips did kiss the page, Then on the stone sat down. And aye he read page after page, Page after page he turned ; And as he read their blessed words, His heart within him burned. Still, still the book the old man read, As he would ne'er have done ; From the hour of noon he read the book Until the set of sun. 212 FOREST SCENE IN THE DAYS OF WICKLIFF. The little child, she brought him out A cake of wheaten bread ; And it lay unbroken at eventide, Nor did he raise his head. Then came the sturdy forester Along the homeward track, Whistling aloud a hunting tune, With a slain deer on his back. Loud greeting gave the forester Unto the pilgrim poor, — The old man rose with thoughtful brow, And entered at the door. They two, they sat them down to meat, And the pilgrim 'gan to tell How he had eaten on Olivet, And drank at Jacob's well. And then he told him he had knelt Where'er our Lord had prayed, How he had in the garden been, And the tomb where He was laid. And then he turned unto the book, And read in English plain, How Christ had died on Calvary, How he had risen again. FOREST SCENE IN THE DAYS OF WICKLIFF. 213 As water to the parche*d soil, As to the hungry, bread, So fell upon the woodman's soul Each word the pilgrim read. , Thus, through the midnight did they read, Until the dawn of day ; And then came in the woodman's son, To fetch the book away. All quick and troubled was his speech, — His face was pale with dread ; For he said the king had made a law That the book should not be read ; For it was such a fearful heresy, The holy Abbot said. Mary Howitt. PART V. OLDER CHILDREN. THE SPRING-TIME OF LIFE WILLIE %VI>-RIE. The summer comes with rosy wreaths. To dance among the fragrant flower?, "While friendly autumn plenty breathes, And blessings in abundant showers. E'en winter with its frost and snow Brings much the mind to calm and cheer, But there 's a season worth them all And that 's the spring-time of the year. 10 218 SPRING-TIME OF LIFE. In spring the farmer ploughs the field That jet will wave with yellow corn, In spring the birdie builds its nest In foggy bank or budding thorn ; The bank and brae, the hill and dell, A song of hope are heard to sing, And summer, autumn, winter tell With joy and grief the work of spring. Now youth 's the spring-time of your life, When seed is sown with care and toil, And hopes are high and fears are rife, Lest weeds should rise the grain to spoil. I 've sown the seed, my bairn ies dear, By precept and example too, And may the Hand that guides us here Preserve us all the journey through. But soon the time will come when you May lose a mother's tender care, A world with sorrows not a few, With all its stormy strife to share : Then as you pass through life along Let fortune kind or frowning prove, Ne'er let the Tempter lead you wrong, But still be guided by His love. George Doxald. THE PURPOSE OF LIFE. 219 THE PURPOSE OF LIFE. Hast thou, midst life's empty noises, Heard the solemn steps of Time, And the low, mysterious voices Of another clime ? Early hath life's mighty question Thrilled within thy heart of youth, With a deep and strong beseeching, — What, and where, is truth ? Not to ease and aimless quiet Doth the inward answer tend ; But to works of love and duty, As our being's end. Earnest toil and strong endeavor Of a spirit which within Wrestles with familiar evil And besetting sin ; And without, with tireless vigor, Steady heart, and purpose strong, In the power of Truth assaileth Every form of wrong. J. G. Whittif.b. 220 THE BUILDING OF THE HOUSE. THE BUILDING OF THE HOUSE 1 have a wondrous house to build, A dwelling, humble yet divine ; A lowly cottage to be filled With all the jewels of the mine. How shall I build it strong and fair, — This noble house, this lodging rare, So small and modest, yet so great ? How shall I fill its chambers bare With use, with ornaments, with state ? My God hath given the stone and clay ; 'T is I must fashion them aright ; 'T is I must mould them day by day, And make my labor my delight ; This cot, this palace, this fair home, This pleasure-house, this holy dome, Must be in all proportions fit, That heavenly messengers may come To lodge with him who tenants it. No fairy bower this house must be, To totter at each gale that starts, But of substantial masonry, Symmetrical in all its parts : Fit in its strength to stand sublime THE BUILDING OF THE HOUSE. 221 For seventy years of mortal time, Defiant of the storm and rain, And well attempered to the clime In every cranny, nook, and pane. I '11 build it so, that if the blast Around it whistle loud and long, The tempest when its rage has passed Shall leave its rafters doubly strong. I ? 11 build it so that travellers by Shall view it with admiring eye, For its commodiousness and grace : Firm on the ground, — straight to the sky, — A meek, but goodly dwelling-place. Thus noble in its outward form, Within I '11 build it clean and white ; Not cheerless cold, but happy warm, And ever open to the light. No tortuous passages or stair, No chamber foul, or dungeon lair, No gloomy attic, shall there be, But wide apartments, ordered fair, And redolent of purity. With three compartments furnished well, The house shall be a home complete ; Wherein, should circumstance rebel, The humble tenant may retreat. The first, a room wherein to deal 222 THE BUILDING OF THE HOUSE. With men for human nature's weal A room where he may work or play, And all his social life reveal In its pure texture, day by day. The second for his wisdom sought, Where, with his chosen book or friend, He may employ his active thought To virtuous or exalted end. A chamber lofty and serene, With a door-window to the green, Smooth-shaven sward, and arching bowers, Where love, or talk, or song between May gild his intellectual hours. The third an oratory dim, But beautiful, where he may raise, Unheard of men, his daily hymn Of love and gratitude and praise ; Where he may revel in the light Of things unseen and infinite, And learn how little he may be, And yet how awful in thy sight, Ineffable Eternity ! Such is the house that I must build ; This is the cottage, this the dome, And this the palace, treasure filled, For an immortal's earthly home. noble work of toil and care ! THE SCULPTOR BOY. 223 task most difficult and rare ! simple but most arduous plan ! To raise a dwelling-place so fair, The sanctuary of a Man. Chas. Mackat. THE SCULPTOR BOY. Chisel in hand stood a sculptor boy, With his marble block before him ; And his face lit up, with a smile of joy, As an angel-dream passed o'er him : He carved it then on the yielding stone, ♦ With many a sharp incision ; With Heaven's own light the sculpture shone : He had caught that angel-vision. Sculptors of life are we, as we stand, With our souls, uncarved, before us, Waiting the hour when, at God's command, Our life-dream shall pass o'er us. If we carve it then, on the yielding stone, With many a sharp incision, Its heavenly beauty shall be our own, Our lives, that angel-vision. Bishop Doane. 224 A PSALM OF LIFE. A PSALM OF LIFE. Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream ! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real ! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal : Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way ; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! Be a hero in the strife ! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ! Let the dead Past bury its dead ! LABOR. 225 Act, — act in the living Present ! Heart within, and God o'erhead ! Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time ; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take'heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate ; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait. Longfellow. LABOR Pause not to dream of the future before us : Pause not to weep the wild cares that come o'er us : Hark, how Creation's deep, musical chorus Unintermitting, goes up into Heaven ! Never the ocean wave falters in flowing : Never the little seed stops in its growing ; More and more richly the Rose-heart keeps glowing, Till from its nourishing stem it is riven. 10* o 226 LABOR. " Labor is worship ! " — the robin is singing ; " Labor is worship ! " — the wild bee is ringing : Listen that eloquent whisper unspringing Speaks to my soul from out nature's great heart, From the dark cloud flows the life-giving shower ; From the rough sod blows the soft-breathing flower ; From the small insect, the rich coral bower ; Only man, in the plan, shrinks from his part. Labor is life ! — 'T is the still water faileth ; Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth ; Keep the watch wound, for the dark rust assaileth ! Flowers droop and die in the stillness of noon. Labor is glory ! the flying cloud lightens ; Only the waving wing changes and brightens ; Idle hearts only the dark future frightens : Play the sweet keys, wouldst thou keep them in tune ! Labor is rest from the sorrows that greet us ; Rest from all petty vexations that meet us, Rest from sin-promptings that ever entreat us, Rest from world-sirens that lure us to ill. Work — and pure slumbers shall wait on thy pillow ; Work — thou shalt ride over Care's coming billow ; Lie not down wearied 'neath Woe's weeping willow ! Work with a stout heart and resolute will ! Droop not thp' shame, sin, and anguish are round thee ! Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound thee ! Look to yon pure Heaven smiling beyond thee ! TRUE HAPPINESS. 227 Rest not content in thy darkness — a clod ! Work — for some good, — be it ever so slowly ! Cherish some flower, — be it ever so lowly ! Labor ! All labor is noble and holy : Let thy great deeds be thy prayer to thy God ! Mrs. F. S. Osgood. TRUE HAPPINESS. How happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will. Whose armor is his honest thought. And simple truth his utmost skill ! Whose passions not his masters are. Whose soul is still prepared for death, Untied unto the world by care Of public fame or private breath ; — Who hath his life from rumors freed ; Whose conscience is his strong retreat Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make oppressors great ; — Who God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend, And walks with man from day to day, As with a brother and a friend. 228 FREEDOM. This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; Lord of himself, though not of lands, And, having nothing, yet hath all. Sir H. Wotton. FREEDOM Is true Freedom but to break Fetters for our own dear sake, And, with leathern hearts, forget That we owe mankind a debt ? No ! true freedom is to share All the chains our brothers wear, And, with heart and hand, to be Earnest to make others free ! They are slaves who fear to speak For the fallen and the weak ; They are slaves who will not choose Hatred, scoffing, and abuse, Rather than in silence shrink From the truth they needs must think ; They are slaves who dare not be In the right with two or three. J. R. Lowell. THE HERITAGE. THE HERITAGE. The rich man's son inherits lands, And piles of brick, and stone, and gold, And he inherits soft white hands, And tender flesh that fears the cold, Nor dares to wear a garment old ; A heritage, it seems to me, One scarce would wish to hold in fee. The rich man's son inherits cares ; The bank may break, the factory burn, A breath may burst his bubble shares, And soft white hands could hardly earn A living that would serve his torn : A heritage, it seems to me, One scarce would wish to hold in fee. The rich man's son inherits wants, His stomach craves for dainty fare ; With sated heart, he hears the pants Of toiling hinds with brown arms bare, And wearies in his easy-chair ; A heritage, it seems to me, One scarce would wish to hold in fee. What doth the poor man's son inherit ? Wishes o'erjoyed with humble things, 230 THE HERITAGE. A rank adjudged by toil-won merit, Content that from employment springs, A heart that in his labor sings ; A heriVige, it seems to me, A king might wish to hold in fee. What doth the poor man's son inherit ? A patience learned of being poor. Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it, A fellow-feeling that is sure To make the outcast bless his door ; A heritage, it seems to me, A king might wish to hold in fee. rich man's son ! there is a toil, That with all others level stands ; Large charity doth never soil, But only whiten, soft white hands, — This is the best crop from thy lands ; A heritage, it seems to me, Worth being rich to hold in fee. poor man's son ! scorn not thy state ; There is worse weariness than thine, In merely being rich and great ; Toil only gives the soul to shine, And makes rest fragrant and benign ; A heritage, it seems to me, Worth being poor to hold in fee. PRIDE. 231 Both, heirs to some six feet of sod, Are equal in the earth at last ; Both, children of the same dear God, Prove title to your heirship vast By record of a well-filled past ; A heritage, it seems to me, Well worth a life to hold in fee: J. R. Lowell. PRIDE. How proud we are ! how fond to show Our clothes, and call them rich and new ; When the poor sheep and silk-worm wore That very clothing long before. The tulip and the butterfly Appear in gayer coats than I ; Let me be dressed fine as I will, Flies, worms, and flowers exceed me still. But let me seek and strive to find Inward adorning of the mind ; Knowledge and virtue, truth and grace, These are the robes of richest dr« This never fades, it ne'er grows old, Nor fears the rain, nor moth, nor mould ; It takes no spot, but still refines ; The more 't is worn, the more it shines. 232 THE NOBLY BORN. In this on earth would I appear, Then go to heaven and wear it there ; God will approve it in his sight 'T is his own work, and his delight. THE NOBLY BORN. Who counts himself as nobly born, Is noble in despite of place, And honors are but bands to one Who wears them not with nature's grace. The prince may sit with clown or churl, Nor feel his state disgraced thereby ; But he who has but small esteem Husbands that little carefully. Then, be thou peasant, be thou peer, Count it still more than art thine own ; Stand on a larger heraldry Than that of nation or of zone. What though not bid to knightly halls ? Those halls have missed a courtly guest ; That mansion is not privileged, Which is not open to the best. THE PEBBLE AND THE ACORN*. 233 Give honor due when custom asks, Nor wrangle for the lesser claim ; It is not to be destitute, To have the thing without the name. Then, dost thou come of noble blood, Disgrace not thy good company ; If lowly born, so bear thyself » That gentle blood may come of thee. Strive not with pain to scale the height Of some fair garden's petty wall, But scale the open mountain-side, Whose summit rises over all. Disciples' Hymx-Book. THE PEBBLE AND THE ACORN. u I AM a Pebble, and yield to none.! " "Were swelling words of a tiny stone, -- Nor time nor season can alter me ; I am abiding, while ages flee. The pelting hail and the drizzling rain Have tried to soften me long in vain ; And the tender dew has sought to melt, Or touch my heart ; but it was not felt. There ? s none that can tell about my birth, For I'mas old as the big, round earth. 234 THE PEBBLE AND THE ACORN. The children of men arise, and pass Out of the world like blades of grass ; And many a foot on me has trod, That *s gone from sight, and under the sod ! I am a Pebble ! but who art thou, Rattling along from the restless bough ? " The Acorn was shocked at the rude salute, And lay for a moment abashed and mute ; She never before had been so near This gravelly ball, the mundane sphere ; And she felt for a time at a loss to know How to answer a thing so coarse and low. But to give reproof of a nobler sort Than the angry look, or the keen retort, At length she said, in a gentle tone : " Since it has happened that I am thrown Erom the lighter element, where I grew, Down to another, so hard and new, And beside a personage so august, Abased, I will cover my head with dust, And quickly retire from the sight of one Whom time, nor season, nor storm, nor sun, Nor the gentle dew, nor the grinding heel Has ever subdued, or made to feel ! " And soon, in the earth, she sunk away From the comfortless spot where the Pebble lay. But it was not long ere the soil was broke By the peering head of an infant oak ! LITTLE THINGS. 235 And, as it arose and its branches spread, The Pebble looked up, and wondering said, " A modest Acorn ! never to tell What was enclosed in its simple shell ; That the pride of the forest was folded up In the narrow space of its little cup ! And meekly to sink in the darksome earth, Which proves that nothing could hide her worth ! And oh ! how many will tread on me, To come and admire the beautiful tree, Whose head is towering towards the sky, Above such a worthless thing as I ! Useless and vain, a cumberer here, t I have been idling from year to year. But never, from this, shall a vaunting word From the humbled Pebble again be heard, Till something without me or within Shall show the purpose for which I 've been ! " The Pebble its vow could not forget, And it lies there wrapt in silence yet. H. F. Gould. LITTLE THINGS. A spider is a little thing, But once a spider saved a king ; The little bees are wiser far Than buffalos and lions are ; 236 LITTLE THINGS. Little men may do much harm ; Little girls may learn to charm ; Little boys may shame their sires, And little sparks become great fires ; A little pen may write a word By which a nation shall be stirred ; A little money, wisely spent, A world of sorrow may prevent ; A little counsel, rightly given, May lift a sinful soul to heaven. Little losses, day by day, Would waste old Rothschild's wealth away ; A little needle in the eye May cause an elephant to die ; A little fault, if left to grow, An emperor may overthrow ; A little word, but spoke in jest, May rob your neighbor of his rest ; A little selfishness and pride The kindest household may divide ; Little vices many times Out-Herod felonies and crimes ; And little virtues in the sum Great excellences do become. Melodies for Childhood. EACH CAN DO SOMETHING. 237 THE KING'S EXAMPLE. Once Sultan Xushirvan the just, hunting, Stopped in an open field to take a lunch. He wanted salt, and to a servant said, "Go, get some at the nearest house, but pay The price the peasant asks." " Great king," exclaimed The servant, " thou art lord o'er all this realm ; Why take the pains to buy a little salt ? " " It is a little thing," said Nushirvan, " And so, at first, was all the evil whose Most monstrous load now presses so the world. Were there no little wrongs, no great could be. If I from off a poor man's tree should pluck A single apple, straight my slaves would rob The whole tree to its roots : if I should seize Five eggs, my ministers at once would snatch A hundred hens. Therefore strict justice must I, even in unimportant acts, observe. Bring salt, but pay the peasant what he asks." Alger's Oriental Poetry. EACH CAN DO SOMETHING What if the little rain should say, " So small a drop as I Can ne'er refresh those thirsty fields ; I '11 tarry in the sky." 238 EVERY LITTLE HELPS. What if the shining beam of noon Should in its fountain stay, Because its single light alone Cannot create a day. Does not each rain-drop help to form The cool refreshing shower ? And every ray of light to warm And beautify the flower ? Then let each child its influence give, Lord ! to truth and thee ; So shall its power by all be felt, However small it be. Southern Church EVERY LITTLE HELPS. Suppose a little twinkling star, Away in yonder sky, Should say, what light can reach so far From such a star as I ? Not many rays of mine so far As yonder earth can fall, — The others so much brighter are, I will not shine at all ! EVERY LITTLE HELPS. 239 Suppose a bright green leaf, that grows Upon the rosebush near, Should say, because I 'm not a rose, I will not linger here ; Or that a dew-drop, fresh and bright, Upon that fragrant flower, Should say, I '11 vanish out of sight, Because I 'm not a shower ! Suppose a little child should say, Because I 'm not a man, I will not try, in word or play, To do what good I can ! Dear child, each star some light can give, Though gleaming faintly there ; Each rose-leaf helps the plant to live, Each dew-drop keeps it fair ! And our good Father who 's in heaven, And doth all creatures view, To every little child has given Some needful work to do : Kind deeds toward those with whom you live, Kind words and actions right, Shall 'mid the world's worst darkness give A little precious light ! Choice Poems. 240 LITTLE DEEDS. LITTLE DEEDS. Not mighty deeds make up the sum Of happiness below, But little acts of kindliness, Which any child may show. A mefry sound, to cheer the babe And tell a friend is near, — A word of ready sympathy, To dry the childish tear, — A glass of water timely brought, — An offered easy-chair, — A turning of the window-blind, That all may feel the air, — An early flower, unasked bestowed, — A light and cautious tread, — A voice to gentlest whisper hushed, To spare the aching head, — 0, deeds like these, though little things, Yet purest love disclose, As fragrant perfume on the air Reveals the hidden rose. Our Heavenly Father loves to see These precious fruits of love ; And, if we only serve him here, We '11 dwell with him above. THE MOUNTAIN TORRENT. 241 THE MOUNTAIN TORRENT. # Fair streamlet running Where violets grow Under the elm-trees, Murmuring low ; Rippling gently Amid the grass ; I have a fancy, As I pass ; I have a fancy as I see The trailing willows kissing thee ; As I behold the daisies pied, The harebells nodding at thy side ; The sheep that feed upon thy brink, The birds that stoop thy wave to drink ; Thy blooms that tempt the bees to stray, And all the life that tracks thy way. I deem thou flowest Through grassy meads To show the beauty Of gentle deeds ; To show how happy The world might be, If man, observant, Copied thee ; To show how small a stream may pour Verdure and beauty on either shore ; 242 WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR? To teach what humble men might do, If their lives were pure, and their hearts were true ; And what a wealth they might dispense,* In modest, calm beneficence ; Marking their course, as thou dost thine, By wayside flowers of love divine. Charles Mackat. WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR? Thy neighbor ? It is he whom thou Hast power to aid and bless, Whose aching heart or burning brow Thy soothing hand may press. Thy neighbor ? 'T is the fainting poor, Whose eye with want is dim, Whom hunger sends from door to door ; Go thou, and succor him. Thy neighbor ? 'T is that weary man, Whose years are at their brim, Bent low with sickness, cares, and pain ; Go thou and comfort him. Thy neighbor ? 'T is the heart bereft Of every earthly gem ; Widow and orphan, helpless left ; — Go thou and shelter them. THE LITTLE MATCH-SELLERS. 243 Thy neighbor ? Yonder toiling slave, Fettered in thought and limb, Whose hopes are all beyond the grave ; — Go thou and ransom him. Whene'er thou meet'st a human form Less favored than thine own, Remember 't is thy neighbor worm, — Thy mother, or thy son. 0, pass not, pass not heedless by ; Perhaps thou canst redeem The breaking heart from misery ; — Go, share thy lot with him. Peabopy. THE LITTLE MATCH-SELLERS Are all your matches sold, Tom ? Is all your selling done ? Then let us to the flowery fields, To warm us in the sun. To warm us in the sweet, sweet sun, — To feel his heavenly glow ; For his kind looks are the only looks Of kindness that we know. We '11 call the sun our father, Tom ! We '11 call the sun our mother ! . 244 FORGIVE THY BROTHER. We '11 call each little charming beam A sister or a brother ! He thinks no shame to kiss us, Although we ragged go ; For his kind looks are the only looks Of kindness that we know. We '11 tell him all our sorrows, Tom ! We '11 tell him all our care, — We '11 tell him where we sleep at night, We '11 tell him how we fare ; And then — then ! — to cheer us, How sweetly he will glow ! — For his kind looks are the only looks Of kindness that we know. Choice Poems. FORGIVE THY BROTHER Forgive thy brother who has erred, And take him by the hand ; And as you speak a generous word, Assist his feet to stand. Joy '11 sparkle in his eye to hear Thy words of gentle tone ; Forgiveness breathed upon his ear, And love and kindness shown, 245 Will make him rise to life again, And shim the path he trod, When, in the round of Folly's train, He broke from Truth and God. Forgive thy brother — even now A smile is on his cheek ; The glow of heaven has tinged his brow, — Speak, and forgive him — speak ! THE BEGGAR'S REVENGE. The king's proud favorite at a beggar threw a stone : He picked it up, as if it had for alms been thrown. He bore it in his bosom long with bitter ache, And sought his time revenge with that same stone to take. One day he heard a street mob's hoarse commingled cry : The favorite comes ! — but draws no more the admiring eye. He rides an ass, from all his haughty state disgraced ; And by the rabble's mocking gibes his way is traced. The stone from out his bosom swift the beggar draws, And, flinging it away, exclaims, " A fool I was ! " 246 SPEAK GENTLY. 'T is madness to attack, when in his power, your foe, And meanness then to strike when he has fallen low. Alger's Omental Poeiry. SPEAK GENTLY. Speak gently ! it is better far To rule by love than fear ; Speak gently ! let not harsh words mar The good we might do here. Speak gently to the aged one ; Grieve not the care-worn heart ; The sands of life are nearly run : Let such in peace depart. Speak gently, kindly, to the poor, Let no harsh tone be heard ; They have enough they must endure Without an unkind word ! Speak gently . l He who gave his life, To bend man's stubborn will, When elements were in fierce strife, Said to them, " Peace, be still ! " Speak gently ! 'tis a little thing, Dropped in the heart's deep well, The good, the joy, which it may bring. Eternity shall tell. xo. 2-47 SO. There 's a word very short, but decided and plain, And speaks to the purpose at once ; Xot a child but its meaning can quickly explain, Yet oft 't is too hard to pronounce : What a world of vexation and trouble 'twould spare, What pleasure and peace ? t would bestow, If we turned, when temptation would lure and ensnare. And firmly repulsed it with u No ! " When the idler would tempt us, with trifles and play, To waste the bright moments so dear ; When the scoffer unholy our faith would gainsay, And mock at the word we revere ; When deception and falsehood and guile would invite, And fleeting enjoyments bestow, Xever palter with truth for a transient delight, But check the first impulse with " No ! " In the morning of life, in maturity's day, Whatever the cares that engage, Be the precepts of virtue our guide and our stay, Our solace from youth unto age ! Thus the heart shall ne'er waver, no matter how tried, But firmness and constancy show, And when passion or folly would draw us aside, We 'd spurn the seducer with u No ! n George Bennett. 248 THE FORSAKEN. THE FORSAKEN. thou whose brow, serene and calm, From earthly stain is free, View not with scorn that lost one's fate, — She once was pure like thee. Though in thy lovely form and face Health's rosy glow we see, Yet shrink not from that faded form — She once was fair like thee ! Thou in thy father's home may dwell In peace and purity ; Yet pity her, though friendless now, — She once was blest like thee. Perchance the smiles of love are thine, Its joyful ecstasy ; Then weep for that forsaken one, — She once was loved like thee. And still, 'mid shame, and guilt, and woe. One Being loves her still ! Who makes thee blest, and pours on her The world's extremest ill. He knows the secret lure that led Her youthful steps astray ; the fairy's gift. 249 He knows that thou, in all thy pride, Might fall from him away ; Then, with the love of Him who said, " Depart, and sin no more," Shield from despair that wretched one, And bid her pangs be o'er. Sacred Offering. THE FAIRY'S GIFT. did you not hear in your nursery The tale that gossips tell, Of two young girls that came to drink At a certain fairy well ? The words of the younger were as sweet As the smile of her ruby Up ; But the tongue of the eldest seemed to move As if venom were on its tip. At the well a beggar accosted them, (A sprite, in mean disguise,) The eldest spake with a scornful brow, The younger with tear-dimmed eyes. Cried the fairy, u Whenever you speak, sweet girl, Pure gems from your lips shall fall ; 11* 250 don't fret. But whenever you utter a word, proud maid, From your tongue shall a serpent crawl ! " And have you not met with these sisters oft, In the haunts of the old and young ? The first with her pure, unsullied lip, The last with her serpent tongue ? The first is Good Nature. Diamonds bright O'er the darkest theme she throws ; The last is Slander — leaving the blight Of the snake, wherever she goes. DON'T FRET Has a neighbor injured you ? Don't fret : You will yet come off the best ; He 's the most to answer for, Never mind it, let it rest. Don't fret : Has a wicked lie been told ? Don't fret : It will run itself to death, If you let it quite alone, It will die for want of breath ; Don't fret. THANKFULNESS. 251 Are your enemies at work ? Don't fret : They can't injure you a whit ; If they find you heed them not, They will soon be glad to quit ; Don't fret. Is adversity your lot ? Don't fret: Fortune's wheel keeps turning round, Every spoke will reach the top, Which, like you, is going down ; Don't fret. THANKFULNESS. Some murmur when their sky is clear And wholly bright to view, If one small speck of dark appear In their great heaven of blue ; And some with thankful love are filled, If but one streak of light, One ray of God's great mercy gild The darkness of their night. In palaces are hearts that ask, In discontent and pride, 252 hope. Why life is such a weary task, And all good things denied ; And hearts in poorest huts admire How love has in their aid (Love that not ever seems to tire) Such rich provision made. humbly take what God bestows, And, like his own fair flowers, Look up in sunshine with a smile, And gently bend in showers. HOPE. The night is mother of the day, The winter of the spring, And ever upon old decay The greenest mosses cling. Behind the cloud the starlight lurks ; Through showers the sunbeams fall ; For God, who loveth all his works, Has left his hope with all. J. G. Whittier. NEVER RAIL AT THE WORLD. '25o TWO WAYS. There are two ways to live on earth, — Two ways to judge, — to act, — to view ; For all things here have double birth, — A right and wrong, — a false and true ! Some beings, wheresoe'er they go. Find naught to please or to exalt, — Their constant study but to show Perpetual modes of finding fault. While others, in the ceaseless round Of daily wants, and daily care, Can yet cull flowers from common ground, And twice enjoy the joy they share ! 0. happy they who happy make, — Who, blessing, still themselves are bL Who something spare for others' sake, Ajid strive, in all things, for the best ! CUAELES SWAIX. NEVER RAIL AT THE WORLD. >sever rail at the world — it is just as we make it : We see not the flower, if we set not the Beed : And as for ill-luck. why. it *s just as wc take it, — The heart that 's in earnest no bars can impede. 254 IN SICKNESS. You question the justice which governs man's breast, And say that the search for true friendship is vain ; But remember, this world, though it be not the best, Is the next to the best we shall ever attain. Ibid. IN SICKNESS. When upon the bed of languor Weak and feverish we toss, Should something like impatient anger Come the weary mind across, The only remedy that 's found To drive away the sin, Is gentle words to those around, And holy thoughts within. Thus, in prison hours full often, Saints their rugged beds could smooth ; Thus their stern jailer's heart could soften, And their own sad bosoms soothe. How did Joseph, dungeon-bound, Release and honor win ? By gentle words to those around, And holy thoughts within. Then, although a prisoner lying Chained in weariness and pain, THE CRIPPLE. 255 My soul through tedious hours is sighing For sunshine, and for health again ; Yet in my chamber ne'er be found A dream of selfish sin. But gentle words to those around, And holy thoughts within. Rev. W. Calvert. THE CRIPPLE. I 'x a helpless, crippled child ; Gentle Christians, pity me ; Once in rosy health I smiled, Blythe and gay as you can be, And, upon the village green First in every sport was seen. Now. alas ! I 'm weak and low, Cannot either work or play ; Tottering on my crutches slow, Drag along my weary way ; Now no longer dance or sing Gayly in the merry ring. Many sleepless nights I live, Turning on my weary bed : Softest pillows cannot give Slumber to my aching head ; 256 THE CRIPPLE. Constant anguish makes it fly From my wakeful, heavy eye. And when morning beams return, Still no comfort beams for me ; Still my limbs with fever burn, Painful shoots my crippled knee, And another tedious day Passes slow and sad away. From my chamber-windows high, Lifted to my easy-chair, I the village green can spy — Once I used to follow there, March, or beat my new-bought drum : Happy times ! no more to come. There I see my fellows gay Sporting on the daisied turf, And, amidst their cheerful play, Stopped by many a merry laugh ; But the sight I cannot bear, Leaning in my easy-chair. Let not then the scoffing eye Laugh my twisted leg to see ; Gentle Christian, passing by, Stop awhile, and pity me, And for you I '11 breathe a prayer, Leaning on my easy-chair. Taylor. THE BOY AND THE FLOWER. 257 THE BOY AND THE FLOWER. FROM THE DAXISH OF HANS ANDERSEN. An angel is bearing to heaven the spirit of a girl, and carries with him a rose. The newly cleansed soul asks the meaning of it. The angel answers : — " In the city we are leaving There lay a dying boy ; The bud I bear to heaven It was his only joy. " His days were long and dreary, In the dismal, dismal street, And at night 't was very dreary To count the passing feet. " For he lay from morn to midnight Watching the shadows pass, And never saw the sunlight, Nor the pleasant country grass. " But when his flower opened He knew the fields were green, And its falling leaves betokened That all the flowers had been. " He saw it ere he slumbered, He watched it as it grew ; 258 THE BOY AND THE FLOWER. Its very leaves he numbered, And its coming bud he knew. " And to his aching bosom It brought such happy rest, That he loved his little blossom Next to his mother — best. " 'T was in the white December God took the boy above ; Yet doth he still remember His lowly flower-love. " It was not made to wither, A thing so good and fair ; Therefore I sought it thither, And take it to him there. " In Heaven's soil abiding, These buds shall brighter blow, And tell us pleasant tiding Of those that live below. " How know'st thou this, bright Power ?" Then splendidly he smiled : " Should I not know my flower ? — /was that sickly child ! " Trans, by Mr. E. Arnold. CCEUR DE LION" AT THE BIER OF HIS FATHEB. 259 CCEUR DE LION AT THE BIER OF HIS FATHER. Torches were blazing clear, Hymns pealing deep and slow, Where a king lay stately on bis bier In the church of Fontivraud. Banners of battle o'er him hung, And warriors slept beneath, And light, as noon's broad light, was flung On the settled face of death. On the settled face of death A strong and ruddy glare ; Though dimmed at times by the censer's breath. Yet it still fell brightest there : As if each deeply furrowed trace Of earthly years to show, — Alas ! that sceptred mortal's race Had surely closed in woe ! The marble floor was swept By many a long, dark stole, As the kneeling priests round him that slept Sang mass for the parted soul ; And solemn were the strains they poured Through the stillness of the night, With the cross above, and the crown and sword, And the silent king in sight. 260 CCEUR DE LION AT THE BIER OF HIS FATHER. There was heard a heavy clang As of steel-girt men the tread, And the tombs, and the hollow pavement rang With a sounding thrill of dread ; And the holy chant was hushed awhile, As, by the torch's flame, A gleam of arms, up the sweeping aisle, With a mail-clad leader came. He came with haughty look, An eagle glance and clear, But his proud heart through his breastplate shook. When he stood beside the bier ! He stood there still with drooping brow, And clasped hands o'er it raised ; — For his father lay before him low ; — It was Coeur de Lion gazed ! And silently he strove With the workings in his breast ; But there 's more in late-repentant love Than steel can keep suppressed ! And his tears broke forth, at last, like rain ; — Men held their breath in awe, For his face was seen by his warrior-train, And he recked not that they saw. He looked upon the dead, And sorrow seemed to lie, CCETJR DE LION AT THE BIER OF HIS FATHER. 261 A weight of sorrow even like lead, Pale on the fast-shut eve. He stooped, and kissed the frozen cheek, And the heavy hand of clay. Till bursting words, yet all too weak, Gave his soul's passion way. " father ! is it vain, This late remorse and deep ? Speak to me, father, once again : I weep, — behold, I weep ! Alas ! my guilty pride and ire ! "Were but this work undone, I would give England's crown, my sire, To have thee bless thy son ! " Speak to me ! mighty grief, Ere now the dust hath stirred ! Hear me ! but hear me, father, chief ! My king ! I must be heard. Hushed, hushed ; — how is it that I call, And that thou answerest not ! When was it thus ? — woe, woe for all The love my soul forgot 1 " Thy silver hairs I see, So still, so sadly bright ! And, father ! father ! but for me They had not been so white ! I bore thee down, high heart ! at last, No longer couldst thou strive ; 262 THE OLD FOLKS' ROOM. 0, for one moment of the past To kneel and say, ' Forgive ! ' " Thou wert the noblest king On royal throne e'er seen ; And thou didst wear, in knightly ring, Of all the stateliest mien ; And thou didst prove, where spears are proved In war, the bravest heart — 0, ever the renowned and loved Thou wert ; — and there thou art ! " Thou, that my boyhood's guide Didst take fond joy to be ! — The times I 've sported by thy side, And climbed the parent-knee ! And there before the blessed shrine, My sire ! I see thee lie ; How will that still, sad face of thine Look on me till I die ! " Mrs. Hemans. THE OLD FOLKS' ROOM. The old man sat by the chimney-side — His face was wrinkled and wan, And he leaned both hands on his stout oak cane, As if all his work were done. THE OLD FOLKS' ROOM. 263 His coat was of good old-fashioned gray, The pockets were deep and wide, Where his " specks " and his steel tobacco-box, Lay snugly side by side. The old man liked to stir the fire, So, near him the tongs were kept : Sometimes he mused as he gazed at the coals, Sometimes he sat and slept. What saw he in the embers there ? Ah ! pictures of other years ; And now and then they wakened smiles, But oftener started tears. His good wife sat on the other side, In a high-backed, flag-seat chair ; I see 'neath the pile of her muslin cap The sheen of her silvery hair. There 's a happy look on her aged face, As she busily knits for him, And Nellie takes up the stitches dropped, For grandmother's eyes are dim. Their children come and read the news, To pass the time each day ; How it stirs the blood in an old man's heart, To hear of the world away. 264 GOOD FROM EVIL. 'T is a homely scene, I told you so, But pleasant it is to view ; At least I thought it so myself, And sketched it down for you. Be kind unto the old, my friend, They 're worn with this world's strife, Though bravely once perchance they fought The stern, fierce battle of life. They taught our youthful feet to climb Upward life's rugged steep ; Then let us gently lead them down To where the weary sleep. GOOD FROM EVIL. The clouds which rise with thunder, slake Our thirsty souls with rain ; The blow most dreaded falls to break From off our limbs a chain ; And wrongs of man to man but make The love of God more plain. As through the shadowy lens of even The eye looks farthest into heaven, On gleams of star and depths of blue The glaring sunshine never knew ! J. G. Whittier. EXCELSIOR. 265 BEAUTY AND DUTY. I slept — and dreamed that life was beauty ; I woke — and found that life was duty. Was my dream, then, a shadowy lie ? Toil on, sad heart, courageously ; And thou shalt find thy dream shall be A noonday light and truth to thee. Lucy Hooper. EXCELSIOR The shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore 'mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device, Excelsior ! His brow was sad ; his eye beneath, Flashed like a falchion from its sheath, And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, Excelsior ! In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright ; 12 266 EXCELSIOR. Above, the spectral glaciers shone, And from his lips escaped a groan, Excelsior ! " Try not the Pass ! " the old man said ; " Dark lowers the tempest overhead, The roaring torrent is deep and wide ! " And loud that clarion voice replied, Excelsior ! " stay," the maiden said, " and rest Thy weary head upon this breast ! " A tear stood in his bright blue eye, But still he answered with a sigh, Excelsior ! " Beware the pine-tree's withered branch ! Beware the fearful avalanche ! " This was the peasant's last good-night ; A voice replied, far up the height, Excelsior ! At break of day, as heavenward The pious monks of Saint Bernard Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, A voice cried through the startled air, Excelsior ! A traveller, by the faithful hound, Half buried in the snow was found, A FAREWELL. 267 Still grasping in his hand of ice That banner with the strange device. Excelsior ! There in the twilight cold and gray, Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay, And from the sky, serene and far, A voice fell, like a falling star, Excelsior ! Longfellow. A FAREWELL. My fairest child, I have no song to give you ; No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray : Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you For every day. Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever ; Do noble things, not dream them, all day long ; And so make life, death, and that vast Forever One grand, sweet song. Charles Kisgsley. PART VI THE END DEATH OF THE NEWLY BAPTIZED. LYRA INXOCENTIUM. What purer, brighter sight on earth, than when The sun looks down upon a drop of dew, Hid in some nook from all hut angels' ken, And with his radiance bathes it through and through, Then into realms too clear for our frail view 272 LITTLE BESSIE. Exhales and draws it with absorbing love ? And what if Heaven therein give token true Of grace that new-born dying infants prove, Just touched with Jesus' light, then lost in joys above ? Keble. LITTLE BESSIE. " Hug me closer, closer, mother ; Put your arms around me tight ; I am cold and tired, mother, And I feel so strange to-night ! Something hurts me here, dear mother, Like a stone upon my breast : 0, I wonder, wonder, mother, Why it is I cannot rest ! " All the day, while you were working, As I lay upon my bed, I was trying to be patient, And to think of what you said : How the kind and blessed Jesus Loves his lambs to watch and keep ; And I wished he 'd come and take me Iu his arms, that I might sleep. " Just before the lamp was lighted, Just before the children came, LITTLE BESSIE. 273 While the room was very quiet, I heard some one call my name. All at once the windows opened : In a field were lambs and sheep ; Some from out a brook were drinking, Some were lying fast asleep. " But I could not see the Saviour, Though I strained my eyes to see ; And I wondered, if he saw me, If he 'd speak to such as me. In a moment I was looking On a world so bright and fair, Which was full of little children, And they seemed so happy there. " They were singing, how sweetly ! Sweeter songs I never heard ; They were singing sweeter, mother, Than can sing our pretty bird ; And while I my breath was holding, One so bright upon me smiled, That I knew it must be Jesus, And he said, ' Come here, my child ; " ' Come up here, my little Bessie ; Come up here, and live with me ; Where the children never suffer, But are happier than you see.' Then I thought of all you told me R 274 THE LOST LITTLE ONE. Of that bright and happy land : I was going, when you called me, When you came and kissed my hand. " And at first I felt so sorry You had called me : I would go — 0, to sleep, and never suffer ! — Mother, don't be crying so ! Hug me closer, closer, mother ; Put your arms around me tight ; 0, how much I love you, mother ! But I feel so strange to-night ! " And the mother pressed her closer To her overburdened breast ; On the heart so near to breaking' Lay the heart so near at rest ! In the solemn hour of midnight, In the darkness calm and deep, Lying on her mother's bosom, Little Bessie fell asleep ! Melodies for Childhood. THE LOST LITTLE ONE. The fairy form our home that blest With sport and prattle gay, The little one we loved the best From earth has passed away. THE LOST LITTLE ONE. 275 We miss her footfall on the floor, Amidst the nursery din, Her tip-tap at our bedroom door, Her bright face peeping in. And when to Heaven's high courts above Ascends our social prayer, Though there are voices that we love, One sweet voice is not there. And dreary seem the hours, and lone, That drag themselves along, Now from our board her smile is gone, And from our hearth her song. We miss that farewell laugh of hers, With its light, joyous sound, And the kiss between the balusters, When good-night time comes round. And empty is her little bed, And on her pillow there Must never rest that cherub head With its soft silken hair. But often, as we wake and weep, Our midnight thoughts will roam, To visit her cold, dreamless sleep, In her last narrow home. 276 RESIGNATION. Then, then it is Faith's tear-dimmed eyes See through ethereal space, Amidst the angel-crowded skies, That dear, that well-known face. With beckoning hand she seems to say, " Though, all her sufferings o'er, Your little one is borne away To this celestial shore, " Doubt not she longs to welcome you To her glad, bright abode, There, happy, endless ages through, To live with her and God." Rev. W. Calvert. RESIGNATION. There is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there ! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair ! The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead ; The heart of Rachel for her children crying Will not be comforted ! RESIGNATION. 27 . Let us be patient ! these severe afflictions Not from the ground arise, But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise. We see but dimly through the mists and vapors ; Amid these earthly damps What seem to us but dim, funereal tapers May be Heaven's distant lamps. There is no Death ! what seems so is transition ; This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call Death. She is not dead — the child of our affection — But gone unto that school, Where she no longer needs our poor protection, And Christ himself doth rule. In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion, By guardian angels led, Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, She lives — whom we call dead. Day after day we think what she is doing In those bright realms of air ; Year after year her tender steps pursuing, Behold her grown more fair. 278 RESIGNATION. Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken The bond which nature gives, Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken, May reach her where she lives. Not as a child shall we again behold her ; For when with raptures wild In our embraces we again enfold her, She will not be a child ; But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion, Clothed with celestial grace ; And beautiful with all the soul's expansion Shall we behold her face. And though at times, impetuous with emotion And anguish long suppressed, The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean That cannot be at rest ; We will be patient ! and assuage the feeling We cannot wholly stay ; By silence sanctifying, not concealing, The grief that must have way. Longfellow. THE ALPINE SHEPHERD. 279 THE ALPINE SHEPHERD. When on my ear your loss was knelled. And tender sympathy upburst, A little rill from memory swelled, Which once had soothed my bitter thirst. And I was fain to bear to you Some portion of their mild relief. That it might be as healing dew, To steal some fever from your grief. After our child's untroubled breath Up to the Father took its way, And on our home the shade of death Like a long twilight haunting lay ; And friends came round with us to weep Her little spirit's swift remove, This story of the Alpine sheep Was told to us by one we love : " They in the valley's sheltering care Soon crop the meadow's tender prime, And when the sod grows brown and bare, The shepherd strives to make them climb 280 THE ALPINE SHEPHERD. " To airy shelves of pasture green, That hang along the mountain's side, Where grass and flowers together lean, And down through mist the sunbeams slide. " But naught can tempt the timid things The steep and rugged path to try, Though sweet the shepherd calls and sings, And seared below the pastures lie, " Till in his arms the lambs he takes, Along the dizzy verge to go, Then, heedless of the rifts and breaks, They follow on o'er rock and snow. " And hi those pastures lifted fair, More dewy soft than lowland mead, The shepherd drops his tender care, And sheep and lambs together feed." This parable, by Nature breathed, Blew on me as the south-wind free O'er frozen brooks, that float unsheathed From icy thraldom to the sea. A blissful vision through the night Would all my happy senses sway, Of the Good Shepherd on the height, Or climbing up the starry way, GOING HOME. 281 Holding our little lamb asleep, And like the burden of the sea Sounded that voice along the deep, Saying, " Arise, and follow me ! " Makia Lowell. GOING HOME. " Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of Heaven." They are going — only going — Jesus called them long ago ; All the wintry time they 're passing Softly as the falling snow. When the violets in the spring-time Catch the azure of the sky. They are carried out to slumber Sweetly where the violets lie. They are going — only going — When with summer earth is dressed, In their cold hands holding roses Folded to each silent breast ; When the autumn hangs red banners Out above the harvest sheaves, They are going — ever going — Thick and fast, like falling leaves. 282 GOING HOME. All along the mighty ages, All adown the solemn time, They have taken up their homeward March to that serener clime, Where the watching, waiting angels Lead them from the shadow dim, To the brightness of His presence Who has called them unto him. They are going — only going — Out of pain and into bliss — Out of sad and sinful weakness Into perfect holiness. Snowy brows — no care shall shade them ; Bright eyes — tears shall never dim ; Rosy lips — no time shall fade them ; Jesus called them unto him. Little hearts forever stainless, — Little hands as pure as they, — Little feet by angels guided Never a forbidden way ! They are going — ever going — Leaving many a lonely spot ; But 't is Jesus who lias called them — Suffer and forbid them not. " OF SUCH IS THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN." 283 OF SUCH IS THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN." 0, why should children fear, When sickness dims the eye, To lie down in the grave, And innocently die ; Since Jesus Christ his word has given, That such as these shall enter Heaven ? Then weep not, parents dear, Because we go above ; TVe leave you here below, To seek a tenderer love ; For Jesus Christ his word has given, That such as we shall enter Heaven. Sigh not o'er our pale brows, Where death has set his seal ; Nor shrink at those chill hands, That have not power to feel, For Jesus Christ his word has given, That such as we shall enter Heaven. Let our young playmates come, And view the grassy mound, And plant their early flowers As if 't were happy ground ; For Jesus Christ his word has given, That such as they shall enter Heaven. Mrs. Gilman. 284 LITTLE PILGRIMS. " Who are they, whose little feet, Pacing life's dark journey through, Now have reached that heavenly seat They had ever kept in view ? " " I from Greenland's frozen land ; " " I from India's sultry plain ; " " I from Afric's barren sand ; " " I from islands of the main." All our earthly journey past, Every tear and pain gone by, Here together meet at last, At the portals of the sky ; Each the welcome " Come! " awaits, Conquerors o'er death and sin ! Lift your heads, ye golden gates ! And let the little travellers in. J. Edmeston. CHILDREN'S PRAISES. Around the throne of God in heaven Thousands of children stand, — Children whose sins are all forgiven, A holy, happy band, — Singing, Glory, glory ! children's praises. 285 In flowing robes of spotless white See every one arrayed, Dwelling in everlasting light, And joys that never fade, — Singing, Glory, glory ! Once they were little things like you, And lived on earth below, And could not praise, as now they do, The Lord who loved them so, — Singing, Glory, glory! "What brought them to that world above, That heaven so bright and fair, Where all is peace, and joy, and love : How come these children there, — Singing, Glory, glory ? On earth they sought the Saviour's grace, On earth they loved his name ; So now they see his blessed face, And stand before the Lamb, — Singing, Glory, glory ! 286 THE SICK CHILD. THE SICK CHILD. Send down thy wingdd angel, God ! Amidst this night so wild, And bid him come where now we watch, And breathe upon our child ! She lies upon her pillow, pale, And moans within her sleep, Or wakeneth with a patient smile, And striveth not to weep ! How gentle and how good a child She is, we know too well ; And dearer to her parents' hearts Than our weak words can tell. We love, — we watch throughout the night, To aid, where need may be ; We hope, — and have despaired at times ; But now we turn to Thee ! Send down thy sweet-souled angel, God ! Amidst the darkness wild, And bid him soothe our souls to-night. And heal our gentle child ! Barry Cornwall. a mother's recompense. 287 A MOTHER'S RECOMPENSE. What can a mother's heart repay, In after years, For watchful night and weary day Beside the cradle passed away, And anxious tears ? To see her dear one tread the earth In life and health, and childish mirth. What can a mother's heart repay For later care, — For words that heavenward point the way, For counsel against passion's sway, And earnest prayer ? To watch her little pilgrims press Along the road to holiness. This will a mother's heart repay, If that loved band, Amidst life's doubtful battle-fray, By grace sustained, shall often say, u Next to God's hand, All of true happiness we know, Mother, to thy dear self we owe." Rev. W. Calvert. 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