path: root/66038-0.txt

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 66038 ***

                            [Illustration]




                            [Illustration:

                             WEE WEE SONGS
                                  FOR
                            OUR LITTLE PETS

                             BY LEILA LEE.

                               NEW YORK:
                    PUBLISHED BY BLAKEMAN & MASON,
                             310 BROADWAY.

                                 1859.
                                   ]

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858, by Henry V. Degen, in
the Clerk’s office of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts.




                               PREFACE.


        Should an apology be needed for issuing a book of
        poetry so very simple as “WEE-WEE SONGS,” it may
        be found in the article entitled “Mother Goose,” on page
        7th. The desire expressed by Willie’s mother,

        “That those who love Jesus
           Would oftener read
         The sweet words he uttered,
           My lambs, ye must feed.”

        has ever found a warm response in the heart of

                                                LEILA.




                             WEE-WEE SONGS

                         FOR OUR LITTLE PETS.




MOTHER GOOSE.


“Mamma,” said our Sue,
  “You sent me to-day,
Up stairs with the nurse
  And Willie to play.

“And I told her I thought
  It was wicked and silly,
To say things like these
  To our dear little Willy--

“‘Oh, hi-diddle,
  Diddle,
The cat has the
  Fiddle,
The cow has jumped
  Over the moon,
The little dog laughed
  To see all the sport,
And the dish ran away
  With the spoon.’

“Nurse says she has found
  The book of great use,
For children are pleased
  To hear Mother Goose.

“Now, is it not wrong
  To tell them a lie?
If not, I am sure
  I cannot see why.”

“I think you are right,”
  Her mother replied;
“Nurse must try to amuse him
  With something beside.

“But babies are pleased
  With the jingle of rhyme,
And old Mother Goose
  Has been used a long time.

“We must find Wee-Wee Songs,
  That are not quite so silly,
And buy them for nurse,
  To amuse little Willy.

“We give him, each day,
  Fresh milk and sweet bread,
And his dear little mind
  Must be properly fed.

“’Tis not easy to find
  Sweet thoughts, good and true,
In nursery rhymes;
  I wish, my dear Sue,

That those who love Jesus
  Would oftener read
Those sweet words he uttered,
  _My lambs_ ye must feed![1]

“For this beautiful world,
  So joyous and bright,
Has so many things
  Of which poets might write.

“The blue sky above us,
  The flowers and the trees,
The warbling of birds,
  And the hum of the bees.

“These bright thoughts would give
  Our darling great pleasure,
If written in simple,
  And sweet-flowing measure.




SLEEP, DOLLY!


Do, Miss Dolly,
    Shut your eye;
  I will wake you
    By and by.

Wee-Wee Songs
    I want to read;
  You must go
    To sleep indeed.

  You’re my little
    Pet, ’tis true,
  But I can not
    Read to you;

  For you never
    Seem to hear,
  Tho’ I read quite
    Loud and clear.

  Little songs are
    Not for you;
  Mind, I’ve told you
    What to do!

  So, Miss Dolly
    Shut your eye;
  I will wake you
    By and by.




WAKE, DOLLY!


Wee-Wee Songs
  Are put away;
Dolly, wake,
  ’Tis time to play!

You have been
  So good to-day
I am sure
  You ought to play.

Dolly, now
  You must obey;
Wake, I say,
  And come and play!

Don’t you hear me
  When I say,
Dolly, wake,
  ’Tis time to play?

Do you dare
  To disobey
When I call,
  Come out to play?

Are you deaf,
  My pet, to-day?
Then I’ll _lead_ you
  Out to play.





[Illustration] ELLA AND THE ROSES.


“What beautiful roses! Oh do, dear mamma,
  Just pick one or two ere we go;
If the gardener were here he would not refuse
  To give us some flowers, I know.”

“The gardener’s _not here_,” her mother replied;
  He asked us to _see_ his sweet flowers;
“I trust, my dear child, you would not wish to steal,--
  These roses, you know, are not ours.

“Their beautiful fragrance you now can inhale,
  Their lovely, bright colors enjoy,
Should you steal but one rose you’d be happy no more,
  You would lose all this innocent joy.”

“O no! dear mamma, I should not wish to steal,
  So I’ll bid these sweet roses adieu!
Now, Rover,” said Ella, “we’re ready to play,
  And I will be happy with you.”




IDA MAY.


No little girl
  More bright and gay,
Or happier
  Than Ida May

As she ran off
  To school one day,
And passed the store
  Of Mr. Gray,

Where, near the door,
  Some ripe plums lay,
And Satan whispered,
  Ida May--

Take but one plum,
  Then run away;
You’ll not be seen
  By Mr. Gray.

Oh, had she thought
  One prayer to say,
She’d not have sinned,
  Poor Ida May!

She caught one up,
  Then ran away,
And was not seen
  By Mr. Gray.

Ah, sinful child,
  To disobey
The Word of God--
  Hear, Ida May!

“Thou shalt not steal!”
  Now hear Him say,
And you have stolen
  From Mr. Gray.

The voice of God
  Will you obey?
It whispers now,
  Stop! Ida May,--

’Tis not too late,
  Go back, you may
Return the plum
  To Mr. Gray.

Then lift your heart
  To God, and pray,
“Forgive the sin
  Of Ida May.”

That still, small voice
  She did obey,
And ran with haste
  To Mr. Gray,

And told him all
  Without delay;
The good man pitied
  Ida May.

He gently wiped
  Her tears away;
And when she left,
  Kind Mr. Gray

Said to the child,
  “One moment stay--
I’ll _give_ some plums
  To Ida May.”

“I could not eat
  A plum to-day!”
Said Ida, then,
  To Mr. Gray.

She went to school
  And all the way
God saw the heart
  Of Ida May

Was sweetly raised
  To Him, to pray
That He would wash
  Her sins away--

For Jesus’ sake.
  And God that day,
Freely forgave
  Dear Ida May.

[Illustration]




[Illustration] THE PEACOCK.


Is it right, Mr. Peacock, to strut about so?
  Your plumage is fine ’tis allowed;
And had _you_ but painted that beautiful tail,
  You would then, with some reason, feel proud.

Many bright little flowers, as pretty as you,
  Are found in some shady retreat.
Go learn of the rose-buds and violets, too,
  Their modesty renders them sweet.

God gave you the plumage we so much admire;
  God painted the butterfly’s wing;
God deck’d the green fields with flowers so gay,
  And taught the dear birds how to sing.

Many things in this beautiful world He has made
  To look quite as pretty as you;
So please, Mr. Peacock, don’t feel quite so proud,
  As your gay, brilliant plumage we view!




MINNIE’S FAITHFULNESS


“Brother, may I unpack your trunk?” said little Minnie Bell.
“O yes, my dear; how glad I am to get home safe and well;
I’ve been in California for more than three long years,
But I’m safely home at last, in spite of mother’s fears.”

“Yes, Alfred, it has seemed, to dear mamma and me,
A long, long time, and we are glad your happy face to see;
Morning and evening, do you know? when we knelt down to pray,
Mamma has asked, that God would bless and guard you while away.

“And God has kindly heard her prayer, and kept you safe and well.”
She worked awhile,--at length, she said, “Dear Alfred, please to tell
Where you have put your Bible? I’ve unpacked the trunk with care,
And I have laid upon the bed most all the clothes you wear.

“I’ve looked at every article, and yet I have not seen
A Bible or a Testament; brother, what can it mean?
I fear that you have been without a Bible all the way;
Is it in California, or have you lost it,--say?”

“You little chatter-box, do see the presents I have brought;
This for mamma, and that for you; Why! really I had thought
The beautiful new dress I bought would please my sister well;
How do you like this India fan, I ask you, Minnie Bell?”

“O, it is very beautiful! I thank you, Alfred, dear;
But yet you have not told me, what most I wish to hear.”
“Well, Minnie,” said her brother, “if really you must know,
When I sailed for California my Bible did not go.

“I know ’twas wrong to leave it out, for never have I seen
A Bible or a Testament in any place I’ve been;
We did not often think of God when we were digging gold;
That is the truth; now, Minnie dear, pray don’t begin to scold.”

“Forgotten God for three long years! Alfred, can this be true?
Dear brother, were you not afraid of God’s forgetting you?”
He took the dear child in his arms, and bursting into tears,
“My conduct has been wrong,” he said, “how sinful it appears!”

Just then his mother entered, with her heart quite full of joy
And gratitude to God above, who had kept her darling boy;
She had been alone to thank him, and offer up a prayer
That God who had preserved her son, would keep him in his care.

“Dear mother, will you pray,” said he, “and read in God’s own Word
That story of the Prodigal, which I have often heard;
For I have wandered far away, but now desire to come
And love and serve that Being who hath safely brought me home?”

Her prayer was heard; and Alfred Bell is now a Christian man,
Serving his God with faithfulness, and doing all he can
That those who go to distant lands, to search for mines of gold,
May find within God’s holy Word a mine of wealth untold.




[Illustration] THE PULSIFER CHILDREN.


Oh, Mother! said little Ruth Greenwood one day,
Please come to the window this moment, I pray,
For two little children are here, by the door,
They are weary and cold, and they look very poor.

The Pulsifer children, I see, said her mother,
’Tis dear little Ella, and Harry, her brother
Run, call them in quickly! their mother, I know
Returned to this village a few days ago.

I sent them, this morning, a cart-load of wood,
And fear that they now may be suffering for food;
We’ll fill up their baskets with bread and with meat,
And give the dear children a plenty to eat.

Their mother is proud, and she cannot endure
The neighbors should know they are now very poor;
But since we’ve “a will,” we must find out “a way,”
To help this poor widow--we must not delay.

Her father’s a drunkard, her husband is dead,
And she is too ill to hold up her head;
The wretched old man now reels thro’ the street,
And never provides them a mouthful to eat.

Ruth ran to the door, and called them both in;
Their feet were most naked, their garments were thin,
Too thin to go out in this cold wintry weather;
Here Ruth and her sister both whispered together.

O, yes, sister Mary, those stockings you’ve knit,
Just the thing, and so warm! I am sure they will fit;
We’ll make up a bundle, and stow it away
In the baskets they’ve left in the entry to-day.

Little Ella and Harry were grateful indeed,
That God had provided such friends in their need;
Their baskets were filled with biscuit and meat,
And warm shoes and stockings to cover their feet.

The Greenwood’s oft drew from their plentiful store,
And quietly sent to the poor widow’s door
Such things as she needed. Her proud heart was melted;
She welcomed their visits, and soon was contented
To let little Harry and Ella go where
They could hear of the Saviour, and his tender care,
Of dear orphan children--the story, to day,
You may read in a book called “A WILL AND A WAY”[2]




MORNING SONG AND MORNING
PRAYER.


MOTHER.

Awake, my daughter, come and see
This Robin red-breast on the tree;
      Open your drowsy eyes!
Spring up from bed and see her now,
She’s lighting on the highest bough,
      Come quick, before she flies!


LILLIE.

Yes, dear mamma, I see the bird,
And sweeter notes I never heard
      Than she is warbling now;
I hope she will not fly away,
But sit and sing the live-long day,
      On this, her favorite bough.


MOTHER.

The birds must build their nests in Spring,
They have to work as well as sing;
      To their Creator’s praise,
Since early dawn, dear Lillie, she
Has warbled out, from yonder tree,
      Her very sweetest lays.

Now tell me, who has kindly kept
My little daughter while she slept;
      Who heard her evening prayer,
And gently closed the weary eye,
Nor suffered danger to come nigh,
      But kept her in his care?


LILLIE.

I laid me down, mamma, and slept,
Because the Lord sustained and kept
      His child thro’ all the night;
And now I lift my heart and pray,
O, God, I thank thee for this day,
      That I may see its light!

When all my friends were fast asleep,
Thou didst my soul in safety keep,
      And took kind care of me;
Father in Heaven, O, hear me now,
As at thy feet I humbly bow,
      To ask a gift of thee.

Give me thy spirit from above,
That I may learn to know and love
      My best and dearest Friend,--
The Savior, who hath died for me,
That I his little lamb may be,
      O Lord thy spirit send!

And now, be with me all the day,
That whether I’m at work or play,
      I may remember, then,
The eye of God is still on me,
Oh, help me thy dear child to be,
      For Jesus’ sake,--Amen.




PLAY-TIME.


Lillie, put
  Your work away,
Now ’tis time
  To go and play.

You have been
  So good to-day,
You’ll be happy
  When you play.




[Illustration] BABY’S FIRST STEPS.


Baby, darling,
  Do not fear,
Move those little
  Feet, my dear;

Don’t stand waiting
  There so long;
You are growing
  Very strong.

Here he comes,
  Oh, that’s the way!
Nurse, I know
  Mamma will say,

When she comes home, Why, how you talk!
Is baby learning how to walk?

Try again,
  Little pet,
You have not
  Fallen yet;

Here she comes;
  Look, nurse, look!
All alone,
  Three steps she took.

When papa
  Comes home to-night,
It will give him
  Great delight;

And he will say, Why, how you talk!
Are you sure the child can walk?

Nurse, I love
  Our baby so,
I must teach her
  All I know.

That’s not much,
  Papa would say,
He laughs at me
  Most every day,

Because I’m old
  Enough to read,
Oh dear! that’s very
  Hard indeed.

But, baby, we will not stop to talk,
We are going out doors to teach you to walk.




CONVERSATION UPON ICE.

MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.


“Come, dear,” said Mrs. Jones one day,
  To Jane, her little daughter,
“Come, look at this large block of ice,
  Now floating in the water!

“You could not lift it from the ground,
  If you should try all day,
And yet, like a mere feather, now,
  You see it float away.”

“Oh, yes, mamma, it does seem strange,
  That it should never sink,
Why that large block of ice should float,
  I’m sure I cannot think.

“How very kind it is in God
  To freeze the waters so,
That on the top the ice remains
  And cannot sink below!

“For, while our winters are so cold,
  How short a time ’twould take
To form one solid mass of ice,
  In river, pond, or lake!

“And thus, from year to year, mamma,
  Winter would ever reign,
For such a mass could never melt
  When summer came again.

“But tell me how the ice is formed,
  And what can make it float
Upon the surface of the lake,
  Just like a little boat?”

“Our Heavenly Father, Jane, has filled
  With bubbles full of air,
Each lump of ice--and we may see
  His goodness everywhere.

“The air expands within the ice,
  Just as its Maker pleases,
And rarifies to make it light,
  Whene’er the water freezes.

“Thin cakes thus form in layers, Jane,
  As you may often see
One ring within another, round
  The body of a tree,

“And thus ’tis piled from week to week,
  While Jack Frost is about,
Until the men with horses come,
  To float the treasure out.”

“And what a luxury, mamma,
  These large ice blocks will be
When summer comes, and we again
  Such sultry weather see!

“Last August, I remember well,
  When I came home from school,
How good the water used to taste,
  With ice to make it cool.

“And then, you know, we used to have
  Our butter hard and nice,
Our cake kept cool, and fish, and meat,
  Preserved with lumps of ice.”

“Yes, dearest, God is ever kind--
  How constant is his care!
He gives not only food and drink,
  And clothes for us to wear,--

“But happy homes with luxuries filled,
  And this bright world of ours
Is stored with precious gifts of love,
  Abundant fruits and flowers,

“To gratify the taste of man,
  And fill his heart with joy;
Then, should not grateful thoughts of God
  Each passing hour employ?”

“Yes, dear mamma, for warbling birds
  Send up their sweetest lays,
To thank Him for his gifts of love,
  And we should offer praise

“To the great God, our dearest friend,
  Who lives and reigns above;
Will you not pray to Him, mamma,
  To fill my heart with love?”




HAPPY DOLLY.


Happy at night,
  Happy by day;
Happy at home,
  Happy away!

Dolly darling,
  Never, never,
Are you cross,
  But happy ever!

[Illustration]




[Illustration] EDDIE IN THE COUNTRY.


“I’m sure ’tis too pleasant this beautiful day
  To sit here so quietly playing,
Come, Lillie, let’s be off to the mountain away,
  And see where the sheep are now straying!”

So said little Eddie, and ran with great joy,
  To ask if his cousin could go;
But tho’ his aunt wished to oblige the dear boy,
  She still was compelled to say no.

“I have given my daughter a lesson to learn,
  Then follows a half hour’s sewing;
Should this be well done, then with pleasure she’ll earn,
  And I shall not object to her going.

“You remember, last evening, she promised papa,
  His handkerchief neatly to sew,
I have fitted her work, when ’tis done,” said mamma,
  “And the lesson is learned, she may go.”

“I can work after dinner,” said Lillie, “do please
  Just _for once_ to grant Eddie’s request.”
“My dear,” said her mother, “’tis no use to teaze,
  After work, not before, you may rest.”

Lillie took up her book, with a tear in her eye,
  She could scarce see a word that was in it;
But Eddie declared ’twas of no use to cry,
  And she thought so herself in a minute.

Resolving to try, and do all in her power,
  To make of each duty a pleasure,
She conquered; and said to mamma, “in an hour,
  Please hear me recite, if you’ve leisure!”

Her mother looked pleased, as she said, “how is this,
  Papa’s handkerchief hemmed and all ready?
Well done, my dear child! Now give me a kiss,
  Then run out and find cousin Eddie.”




BIBLE SOLD BY WEIGHT.


Please put the Bible in one scale, the papers in the other;
’Tis mine? ’tis mine! dear Willie cried, and ran to tell his mother.
His little heart was full of joy as he ran home again;
How he obtained the Bible, young reader, we’ll explain.

He went to buy his mother, at noon, a pound of tea,
And, when the grocer weighed it out, the child observed that he
Turned round to tear a Bible that on the counter lay,
He had bought it for waste paper, he said that very day.

He was almost out of paper to wrap his parcels in.
Now the grocer could not read, and knew not what a sin
It was to tear this Holy Book and take each well-worn leaf
To use for such a purpose; but when he saw the grief

Of his little favorite, Willie, he kindly said, I’m sure
I’ll give you the old volume if some papers you’ll procure,
As much as this great book will weigh--you see it is not light,--
Run home and see what you can find, and bring them before night.

The boy was very poor, indeed, but he was good and kind,
And when he went among his friends, it was not hard to find
Those who approved of Willie’s care of God’s most Holy Word,
They gladly gave the papers when the story they had heard.

An hour had scarcely passed, when the grocer saw, with pleasure,
The little boy returning to claim the promised treasure.
He placed the Bible in one scale, the papers in the other.
Oh, thank you, sir! ’tis mine! he cried, and ran to tell his mother.

How happy was that mother; God’s Word was her delight
A light unto her path by day,--a guiding star at night;
She raised her heart in thankfulness, that he had learned to prize
His precious Bible, and had gained a treasure in the skies.




[Illustration] OH, SPARE THE BIRDS.


Spare the dear little birds, don’t kill them I pray!
  But listen, and hear their sweet song;
To spoil all our music, and shoot them to-day,
  Oh, sportsmen, you know ’twould be wrong!

At dawn of the day, they are warbling away,
  But they never have done the least harm;
The summer’s most gone, they’ve a short time to stay--
  They will soon fly away from our farm.

To the bright sunny South, they then will repair,
  In autumn they flock off together;
Our Father in Heaven with kind, watchful care,
  Then guides them in search of warm weather.

I’m sure ’twill displease Him, if merely for sport
  You shoot these sweet songsters to-day;
Remember, kind sportsmen, their life is but short;
  Oh, spare them, in pity, I pray!




CROSS GIRL.


Jane, my dear,
  How can you be
Cross to little
  Emily!

When she’s such
  A darling child;
Always gentle,
  Meek and mild.




[Illustration] TRENTON FALLS.

See Frontispiece and other views of Trenton Falls.


Cascades roaring
  In their might,--
Waters pouring
  From the height,--

Wildly bounding
  On their way,--
Loud resounding,
  Seem to say,--

See us toiling,
  As we glide;--
Hear us boiling,
  Far and wide.

We are living,
  Not in vain,--
We are giving
  Back again

Plenteous rain-drops
  To the sun,
As it cheers us
  While we run.

Rising, leaping,
  Over hills,--
We are keeping
  Yonder mills

Swiftly going
  Round and round;
Onward flowing,
  We are found.

Useful ever,
  As we go;
Silent never.
  Do you know

We are teaching
  You to-day;
Hear our preaching.
  Children, stay!

Learn a lesson
  Of the river;
Yield your hearts
  To God, their giver.

Ever raising
  Grateful praise,
Loving, serving,
  All your days.




PAPA’S REQUEST.


Write very often, children,--
  Write papa very soon;
Your letters will be dearer
  Than lovliest flowers in June;
For papa will be absent
  Throughout the long, long year.
Write to him very often
  What he will wish to hear.

That Fred and sister Bessie
  Are learning with their might,
And little Nell and Jessie
  Are doing what is right.
Dear children, help each other,
  At morning, noon, and night,
And then your happy mother
  Will find it sweet to write.

Write papa very often,--
  Write in the early morn,
Or write him just at twilight,
  When all the day is gone;
Draw out the pretty table,
  Mamma will bring a light,
And help the older children
  To gather round and write.

Write of the loving kindness
  Of that dear Friend above,
To whom, in papa’s absence,
  He would lead your hearts in love.
Think of Him in the morning,
  And think of Him at night,
And of his acts of kindness
  Do not forget to write.

Write very often, dear ones,--
  Write papa very soon,
Your letters will be dearer
  Than loveliest flowers in June.
If, while papa is absent,
  You’d fill him with delight,
Think of him very often,
  And don’t forget to write.




JANE’S QUESTION.


“Mamma,” said Jane, “what will you do
When you have read your Bible through?
You read so carefully each part,
I think you’ll know it all by heart.”

Her mother smiled and said, “Why, then
I mean to read it through again;
And hope my daughter soon will be
Able to read God’s Book with me.”

“Yes, dear mamma, I soon shall read,
I’m learning very fast, indeed;
And I should gladly leave my play
For Bible stories any day.

“But, then, you know, to me they’re new;
Now, when I’ve read a book twice through,
I’m tired of it, and want another,--
Why do you not feel so, dear mother?”

“Indeed, my love, I often do
Tire of some books as quick as you;
I should not even read them twice,
_Once reading_ will for me suffice.

“But we may read, and read again,
These sweet words of our Father, Jane,
From youth to age, and as we come
Nearer and nearer to our home--

“Our happy home in heaven above,
This Book we more and more shall love;
Sweeter than honey, and more dear
Than precious gems, ’twill then appear.

“May God his grace to you impart,
And write these truths upon your heart.
Now, darling, put your work away,
’Tis time for you to run and play,--
We’ll talk of this some other day.”




[Illustration] JOHN MASON AND HIS SLED


“O, how I wish we owned a sleigh,”
  Said Susie to her mother;
“I want to go to school to-day,
  With Nellie and my brother!”

Her mother sighed, and said, “My dear,
  Your sister cannot go;
They have not made a path, I fear,
  Since this great fall of snow.”

Here James ran in with joy, and said,
  “Dear mother, come and see;
John Mason’s here with his new sled,
  He offers it to me

“To take our Nell to school to-day;
  I am to be the horse;
Please wrap her up without delay,
  You’ll let her go, of course!”

“And Susie, too,” John Mason cried,
  “I’ll take her on my back;
Nell and the dinner, both can ride,--
  John, follow in my track!”

The mother’s heart was filled with joy,
  She watched them from the door,
A happy group! And that dear boy
  Who thought upon the poor,

Think you, he was not happy, too,
  When he went home at night!
If you would hear the story through,
  Read “RIGHT, AND ABOUT RIGHT.”[3]




RIDE TO SCHOOL IN WINTER.


    “We are ready;
      Let us go
    Swiftly over
      Ice and snow;
    Nell and Susie,
      Side by side,
    You shall have
      A glorious ride!”
See the happy children go
Smoothly o’er the ice and snow!

    “Clasp your arms
      Around me tight;
    Hold on, Susie,
      That is right;--
    Nellie, keep
      The basket still
    When we dash
      Down yonder hill!”
Thus the happy children go
Briskly o’er the ice and snow.

    “Wintry weather
      Cannot harm us,
    Nor Jack Frost
      E’er alarm us;
    How exciting!
      Onward move,
    Hearts uniting
      Thus in love.”
Merrily singing, on they go
Quickly o’er the ice and snow.

    “Oh, we love
      This bracing air,
    Though the snow
      Is everywhere;
    Fingers cold?
      Never mind it.
    There’s a fire,
      We shall find it,
When we reach the school, you know,
Over the ice and over the snow.

    “Now we toil
      Up the hill,
    Wear-i-ly,
      But upward still,
    Soon the height
      We shall gain,
    Pull the sled
      With might and main.”
Struggling, toiling, up they go
Wearily over the ice and snow!

    Then along
      The level ground,
    On they go
      With a bound;
    Merry shouts
      Everywhere
    Ringing through
      The frosty air;
See the happy children go
Smoothly o’er the ice and snow!

    See! they’re dashing
      Down the hill,
    Boys are calling,
      “Nell, be still!”
    Teeth are chattering
      In her head,
    Dishes rattling
      On the sled;
Girls are frightened though they go
Safely o’er the ice and snow.

    Now they near
      The school-house door--
    There’s the pond
      All frozen o’er;
    Hear the happy
      Children singing,
    Through the air
      Their voices ringing;
Sliding, skating, merrily, oh!
Swiftly over the ice and snow!

    Nell and Sue
      Have found a seat,
    And have warmed
      Their hands and feet;
    When the bell
      Rings loud and clear,
    Leave your sports
      Children dear!
Quickly into the school they go,
Merrily leaving the ice and snow.




[Illustration] THE KIND BROTHER.


Coach is tackled;
  Sister, run,
Put your gloves
  And bonnet on!

It is about
  A week ago,
We were promised,
  Sis, you know,

Were we good,
  We should to-day
Take the coach
  And ride away.

Cousins now
  Are all at home;
Glad they’ll be
  To see us come.

Oh, how pleasant
  ’Tis to ride,
All along
  The river side!

Sister, come,
  Do not delay,
’Tis quite time
  To start away.

Now you’r crying!
  Are’nt you well?
What’s the matter?
  Mary, tell?


THE FIRST LIE.

Brother, do not
  Ask me why!
Yet, you’ll hear,--
  I’ve told a lie!

And here, shut up,
  I’m doomed to stay,
And weep and mourn
  The livelong day!

Dear Harry I’m
  Afraid that you
And Harriet,
  Will hate me too.

For, since I’ve told
  This lie, mamma
Don’t speak to me,
  Nor does papa.

Not once upon me
  Have they smiled,
Since I was such
  A wicked child.

Oh, they will hate me,
  I’m afraid,
And God, who heard
  The words I said,

Will shut all liars
  Out of heaven;
Oh, can I ever
  Be forgiven?


HARRY.

Dear sister, I
  Will tell mamma
How bad you feel,
  And ask papa

This evening, when
  We kneel to pray,
To ask that God
  May wash away

Your sins, and help you,
  Every day,
To speak the truth
  Whate’er you say.

But first, I’ll send
  The coach away
I do not wish
  To ride to-day.




[Illustration] GRANITE HILLS IN WINTER.


These hills, so magnificent, lofty, and great!
The boast of New Hampshire--the Old Granite State!
I have seen them, dear children, and much I admire
These beautiful hills in their wintry attire.

The Ice King has laid his cold hand on the rills,
They cannot now playfully leap down the hills;
Snowy mountain and valley alike are made hoary;
Jack Frost reigns triumphant, alone in his glory.

One sees, now and then, a lonely snow-bird,
But old Robin red-breast no longer is heard
Warbling out a glad song to the praise of her Maker,
She has gone where the Ice King cannot overtake her.

Who guides the dear birds, that they never get lost
When seeking a home to escape from the frost?
Our Father in Heaven--he guides them aright,
Till away in the bright, sunny South they alight.

So long as these lofty old hills shall remain,
And spring shall renew their bright verdure again,
Our loving, kind Father shall still fondly care
For the beasts of the field and the fowls of the air.

Not a robin or sparrow can fall to the ground;
Not a raven may cry but he heareth the sound.
Then will not “Our Father in Heaven” be nigh,
And bless us, dear children, when we, too, shall cry?

Oh, yes! Are ye not of more value than they?
In accents most tender, we hear Jesus say;
And I’m sure, if God takes such kind care of a bird,
Our prayers, if sincere, cannot fail to be heard.




THE LAKE--ISLES--NOTCH--WHITE
MOUNTAINS, ETC.


If a map of the Old Granite State you will take,
Near the borders of Maine you will find that large lake,
The Winnipisogee,--so lovely to view
Embosoming islands most beautiful, too.

In number they equal the days of the year;
And when summer comes no islands appear
More lovely in verdure and beauty than these,
With rich, fruitful fields, and beautiful trees--

So vocal with birds, warbling out their sweet lays,
As if they were chanting their Maker’s praise,
Could you _then_ view the lake, dear children, the sight
Would fill your young hearts with the greatest delight.

Another famed spot is a narrow defile,
Where the mountain seems split for more than a mile,
And a picturesque landscape around you is spread,
With the White Mountains hanging just over your head.

This Notch is so wonderful, travellers agree,
It repays one to come a long distance to see;
Amid Alpine heights such views may abound,
But in our own country they seldom are found.

American Switzerland! Such is the name
We give to the Old Granite State for the fame
Of its islands and lakes, its cascades and fountains,
And the bold, lofty peaks of the snowy White Mountains.




SHUN THE SWEARER.


Run home, little boy!
  Oh, do not stand there,
To hear that bad man
  So wickedly swear.

[Illustration]

What a sight
  We descry
When the Falls
  Meet our eye!




THE TELL-TALE.


Emma, I’m sorry to observe
  A trick you have, my dear,
Of listening to whate’er is said,
  And telling all you hear.

I knew a little Judith Shove,
  Who had this habit, too;
She was an active, sprightly girl,
  About as old as you.

But what was said and done at home
  She always minded well,
And, when she went abroad, the whole
  She would be sure to tell.

People were cautious what they said
  Where’er she chanced to come,
For well they knew that every word
  Would straight be carried home.

The teacher who instructed her,
  Had made this wholesome rule,
To punish every child who told
  Of what was done in school.

But Judith loved to talk so well,
  No rule could hold her long;
She could not bear to be restrained,
  Nor learn to hold her tongue.

One day a scholar misbehaved,
  This made the teacher fret,
And Judith told the whole affair
  To every one she met.

But, when the active school-dame heard
  Her laws were disobeyed,
To find the naughty tell-tale child,
  A search she quickly made.

Judith well knew the fault was hers,
  And greatly did she fear
To take the threatened punishment
  Which she deserved to bear.

So, on her little sister she
  Contrived the blame to lay,
And said she heard her tell the tale
  At home that very day.

The little, frightened, trembling child
  With truth the charge denied;
But Judith said, before the school,
  That little Sallie lied.

And so she bore what would have been
  The wicked Judith’s due,--
The punishment for telling tales,
  And speaking falsely, too.

Weeping and sobbing she went home,
  Her little heart was full;
And Sallie was a child of truth,
  So they believed the whole.

Papa made Judith go to school,
  And there, before them all,
Own how deceitful she had been;
  Then on her knees to fall
Before the dame and Sallie, too,
  Their pardon to obtain,
And promise she would never do
  So wickedly again.

But ever after, let her go
  Abroad where’er she would,
The boys would hoot her as she passed,
  And call her--Tattling Jude!




THE STOLEN PENKNIFE.


“Harry, darling, what’s the matter;
  Have you hurt yourself, my boy?
When I went away, this morning,
  That bright face was full of joy.”

“Oh, papa,” said Harry, sobbing,
  “I do think it is a shame,
My new knife is gone--he stole it,
  And I do not know his name.”

“Your new knife! Who stole it, Harry?”
  “That big boy, papa, who brought
Shavings here to sell, this morning;
  Oh I wish he could be caught.

“I was standing on the sidewalk,
  Whittling with my knife to-day,
When he came, and asked to see it,
  Then he turned and ran away.”

“Wicked boy! I think I know him;
  ’Twas a naughty thing to do;
I will bring you home another,
  Like the one he stole from you.

“That poor boy has no kind parents,
  Nor a bright and happy home;
Wicked children are his playmates,
  Through the streets he loves to roam.

“There he learns to be so sinful,
  Lying, stealing, every day;
He has no kind friends to teach him,
  Morn and evening, how to pray.

“Should you not be thankful, darling,
  God has been so good to you;
Given you friends so kind and loving,
  Taught you what you ought to do?

“Learn, my son, a useful lesson
  From this wretched boy to-day,--
Never choose a bad companion
  When you’re in the streets at play.




[Illustration] CROSS GIRL.


MOTHER.

My dear Amelia, I’m ashamed
  To hear you quarrel so;
Leave off these naughty airs, my child,
  Go play with Frances,--go!


AMELIA.

I can’t, mamma, the little minx
  May play with whom she can;
And while she lives she shall not have
  My waxen doll again.

“With any other little girl
  I should be glad to play;
But I don’t love our Frances, Ma,
  I wish she’d go away.


MOTHER.

Amelia, little Betsy Smith
  Spends all her time alone;
_She_ had a little sister once,
  But now she’s dead and gone.

Betsy, like you, was very cross,
  And when she used to play
“With pretty little Emeline,
  She’d quarrel every day.

One time her sister said to her,
  “Don’t, Betsy, be so cross;
Indeed, I am not well to-day,
  And fear I shall be worse.”

“Not well! Oh, yes, you’re very sick!
  I don’t believe it’s true;
You only want to coax Mamma
  To get nice things for you.”

But Emeline grew worse and worse,
  Till she could hardly speak;
And when the doctor came he said,
  She would not live a week.

And then it rushed on Betsy’s mind,
  How wicked she had been;
The cruel treatment of the child
  She never felt till then.

Over her sister’s bed she hung,
  With many a bitter sigh,
And laid her arms about her neck,
  and begged her not to die.

“Forgive me, Emeline, or else
  I do not wish to live;
Oh speak, dear sister, speak once more,
  And say you will forgive!

The poor, dear, suffering, dying child
  Just raised her languid eye,
And moved her lips, and tried to say,
  Dear Betsy, do not cry!

Then Betsey’s sorrowing mother tried
  To take her from the bed,
She cast her weeping eyes behind,
  And Emeline was dead.

And now poor little Betsy sits,
  Day after day, alone;
She does not wish to laugh or play
  Since Emeline is gone.


AMELIA.

Mamma, now see I am not cross;
  Come, Fanny, let us play!
And you shall have my waxen doll,
  And keep it every day.




THE FIRST THEFT.


MOTHER.

Edward, come here, how pale you are!
  What makes you look so wild?
And you’ve been crying sadly, too!
  What’s happened to my child?


EDWARD.

You know, mamma, you sent me down
  To Mr. Brightman’s shop,
With ninepence in my hand to buy
  A little humming-top.

Well, Mr. Brightman handed down
  A dozen tops or more,
That I might take my choice of one,
  Then stepped towards the door.

And so I caught one slily up,
  And in my pocket hid it,
No one could e’er suspect the thing,
  So cunningly I did it.

Then I took out another top,
  And laid my ninepence down,
Laughing to think I owned them both,
  But paid for only one.

But, when I turned and left the shop,
  I felt most dreadfully;
For all the while I was afraid
  That he would follow me.

Oh sure, thought I, he’ll find it out,
  The angry man will come,
And I shall never see mamma,
  And never more go home.

They’ll tie a rope about my neck,
  They’ll hang me up on high,
And leave the little, wicked thief
  To hang there till he die.

Away I ran, in this sad fright,
  Fast down the nearest lane;
And then I stopped and looked behind,
  Then screamed, and ran again.

Trembling, at last I reached my home,
  And straight I went to bed,--
But, oh! in such a shocking plight
  That I was almost dead.

No rest nor comfort could I take,
  And not a wink of sleep;
All I could do was toss and turn
  From side to side and weep.

But what was worst of all, mamma,
  I could not say my prayers;
And then I thought my heart would burst,
  For I was drowned in tears.

For sure, I cried, God will not hear
  A child so wicked pray;
I dare not hope he’ll let me live
  To see another day.

Thus did I weep till morning dawned,
  And yet found no relief;
For, oh! what comfort can there be
  For such a wicked thief?


MOTHER.

Go, my poor, wretched, guilty child,
  Go, take the top you stole
And give it to the man you wronged,
  And own to him the whole.

Then, on your knees before your God,
  Confess how vile you’ve been;
Beg him to pardon and forgive
  This great and dreadful sin.

And never while you live, again
  To such a deed consent,
Lest God should take away your life
  Before you could repent.




DOLLY’S NAME.


My Dolly’s name,--
  What shall it be?
I want a pretty one,
  Let’s see;--

There’s Bessie, Jessie,
  Bell, and Nell;
Well, I think
  I’ll call her Bell!

[Illustration]




COOKING, IN OLD TIMES.


No little girl or boy hath guessed
  The process or the art
By which the early Indians dressed
  And cut their meat apart;
Since neither knife, nor spoon, nor fork,
Had they to aid them in their work.

A piece of flint or sharpened shell,
  The place of knife supplied,
And answered every purpose well,
  To free it from the hide,--
To clear the entrails, scrape the hair,
And make the carcass clean and fair.

Then in the earth a pit was made,
  To hold the fish or game,
There, stones at sides and bottom laid,
  An oven it became;
No better did their wants require,
And here they lighted up a fire.

From this, when gained sufficient heat,
  The glowing coals were dug,
And here the squaw laid in her meat,
  With leaves encompassed snug;
With heated stones ’twas covered up
Till time to breakfast, dine, or sup.

And how, without a pot to boil,
  Was taught by Indian wit;
A stone was sought, and mighty toil
  A hollow made in it;
And water got its warmth alone,
From heated pebbles in it thrown.

Then other pebbles, burning hot,
  Kept up the boiling heat,
And in this strangely-fashioned pot
  Was placed the hunter’s meat;
Not over nice, but then, I’m sure,
The Indian was no epicure.

Fresh fish, well broiled on embers red,
  The Indians often saw;
And shell-fish, from their rocky bed,
  Were eaten roast or raw.
Thus the Good Spirit kindly gave
His bounteous store to Indian brave.




SUCCOTASH.


Though many viands Indians prized--
If served to people civilized,
    Would cause disdainful smile;
Yet one nice dish of times by-gone,
The succotash, or beans and corn,
    When cooked in Indian style,

To some, is thought a greater treat
Than all the choicest joints of meat
    An epicure might choose;
Poultry and game may both abound
Where this delicious dish is found,
    I would all else refuse.

Give me no fish, nor barbecue;
Pâté-de-fois, and oysters, too,
    Salads and sauces rich,
May tempt an epicure to roam,
But I had rather dine at home,
    On this, my favorite dish.

In early days, the bell would sound,
Then olive plants would gather round,
    As fast as they were able,
As soon as beans and corn were seen
Within the goodly-sized tureen,
    In centre of the table.

We oft recall those happy times,
’Mid varied scenes, in distant climes,
    And memory lingers round,
And brings to our enraptured view
That blessed home--the garden, too,
    Where beans and corn abound.

And beans and corn do still abound,
And succotash is often found
    Within our early home;
With grateful hearts to God above,
We often gather there in love
    Too soon again to roam.




[Illustration] CLOSE OF THE DAY.


’Tis twilight, and the glorious sun
  Hath left his place on high;
And evening shadows have begun
  To steal along the sky.

The swallow leaves the fields of air,
  The busy bee the flower;
And farmers hasten home to share
  The quiet of the hour.

Tho’ small in size, the cricket tries
  His voice so shrill and strong,
And many a frog, from pond and bog,
  Sends forth its croaking song.

Now we will call the children dear
  To rest their wearied limbs,
And, as the time for bed draws near,
  We’ll hear their evening hymns.

And then, Aunt Avis must not fail
  To bring her stock of verse,
For in sweet rhyme a pleasant tale
  She can for us rehearse.

And often, at the close of day,
  We’ll think of this kind friend,
And ask for some instructive lay,
  Which she has sweetly penned.

  *       *       *       *       *

      How pleasant it seems
        To hear mamma say,
      You’ve been very good,
        My darling, to-day.




WONDERFUL INSTINCT OF THE ANT.


We visit an ant-hill, dear children, to-day.
Come, witness the instinct these creatures display;
    “Consider their ways and be wise;”
Thus spoke a wise king, in the Proverbs, you know,
And though we’re no sluggards, I think if we go
    We’ll find a rich feast for our eyes.

One square foot of earth, though to us very small,
To the ant is a kingdom. Each house has a hall,
    With chambers and passages lined;
And thousands of homes in one square foot of ground,
With swarms of these insects are frequently found,
    And such a one now we will find.

The ants’ mode of building we first will explain--
The earth being moistened with dew or with rain,
    Large swarms of these insects will meet;
Each one takes a grain that you scarcely could see,
And kneads it and moulds it as nice as can be,
    Then pats it down smooth with its feet.

These diligent builders thus work at their trade,
Till hundreds and thousands of houses are made
    Beneath all these little mud balls;
In these tiny ant-hills we see above ground
Small buildings of full twenty stories are found,
    Supported by pillars and walls.

What wonderful instinct these creatures display
In the care of their young on a damp rainy day,
    As they run from one room to another!
And up stairs and down stairs they hasten again,
As each little ant, to be kept from the rain,
    Must be carried up stairs by its mother.

When the clouds are dispersed, again they must run,
These delicate ants could not bear the hot sun;
    And their mothers immediately go
To move their dear children a few stories lower,
And find them a room upon the ground floor,
    And give them their supper below.

Who teaches the ant her food to prepare,
And store it in cells with such diligent care,
    That she all their wants may supply?
’Tis God, my dear child; he provides for them all,
And each little insect, though ever so small,
    Is still in the reach of his eye.

The same tender parent who watches o’er you,
Has guided the ant the whole summer through,
    And taught her her food to prepare;
And when wintry frosts have quite covered the ground,
The ant with her family safely is found,
    Still guarded and kept by his care.




LITTLE EDDIE.


The roving eye might vainly seek
  A fairer to behold,
Than little Eddie’s rosy cheek,
  When he was eight years old.

And those who love a merry glance,
  No brighter eye had seen,
Nor lighter limb to skip and dance,
  In meadow or in green.

But Edward’s charms of better kind,
  With more delight I praise,
For sweet and gentle was his mind,
  And pleasant all his ways.

No angry passions, fierce and wild,
  No evil thought or plan,
Had place in this beloved child,
  Throughout his little span.

In health and strength he grew, till came
  His ninth revolving year,
Then sickness seized his little frame,
  And suffering most severe.

For many a month upon his bed,
  His feverish hands were laid,
Nor could he raise his aching head
  Without his mother’s aid.

Yet patient lay the little boy,
  And no repining word,
Or fretful wish for other’s joy,
  From Edward’s lip was heard.

Though gentle summer came and strewed
  Fresh beauties o’er the earth,
He went not to the field or wood
  To share his playmates’ mirth.

Though winter, from the frozen north,
  Brought ice and snow along,
Yet little Edward went not forth
  To join the merry throng.

The rose departed from his cheek,
  The brightness from his eye,
And then his spirit fled to seek
  Its Father in the sky;

Who, in his love, from pain and strife
  Such little ones doth take,
And give them endless light and life,
  For our Redeemer’s sake.

His body to the earth was given,
  And rests beneath the sod,
But Eddie’s spirit went to heaven,
  To join in praising God.

Long will his many friends approve
  His manners, sweet and mild,
And tell his innocence and love
  To many a listening child.

His mother’s heart the sad, the sweet
  Remembrance doth employ,
And full her trust in heaven to meet
  Her blessed little boy.

[Illustration]




FAITHFUL FIDO.


An emblem of faithfulness
  Here you behold,
As Fido is carefully
  Guarding the gold.

How eager he watches
  For danger around;
So, true to your trust,
  May you ever be found!

[Illustration]




LITTLE MARY AND HER WICKED
FATHER.


“What shall I do? What shall I do?” the wicked father said,
As in agony of spirit he rose up from his bed,
And earnestly entreated his wife to kneel and pray;
Alas! dear Mary’s mother had ne’er been taught the way.

“I cannot pray, dear husband,” the trembling wife replied.
“Oh, then, what can I do?” in bitterness he cried.
“Perhaps,” she said, “our Mary has learned to say her prayers,
She seems so good and holy.” He hastened up the stairs

Where slept that young disciple, a child of seven years;
Her father gently woke her, then, bursting into tears,
He said, “O, can you pray, my child; has Jesus taught you how?
And will you try to pray for your poor father, now?”

She knelt, put up her little hands, “Our Father up in heaven,”
She sweetly said, “for Jesus’ sake, let father be forgiven;
Have mercy, blessed Savior, wash all his sins away,
And send thy Holy Spirit to teach him how to pray.”

That father rose in penitence, sweet thoughts within him stirred,
A yearning, warm desire to hear from God’s own Word
Those precious truths she thus had lisped in accents sweet and mild;
He placed the Bible in her hand; “Take this and read my child.”

She read the holy Book, and, at that midnight hour,
God sent his blessed Spirit to seal it home with power;
Those sweet words of the loving John, that “all who look may live,”[4]
He heard, and said, “Dear Mary, can Jesus now forgive?”

“Oh listen, father! ‘God _so_ loved,’ he sent his only Son,
And all who now believe on that dear, blessed One,
The Lamb of God, shall never die, shall have their sins forgiven,
And he will take them home at last, to dwell with him in heaven.”

“That is for me!” he cried; “for sinners just like me;
I will look up to Jesus now,--Savior, I come to thee;
I hear those blessed words, ‘Come unto me and live;’
I can believe,--I do believe! Dear Jesus now forgive.”

Yes, look to Christ, believing one, he whispers now you may.
He heard, and went, from that glad hour, rejoicing on his way.

[Illustration]




[Illustration] SALLIE M----.


I knew a lass, but quite too long
Was her whole name to weave in song,
But, lest a change she should condemn,
We’ll only call her Sarah M----.

Now, from her youth, this damsel’s mind
Was most industriously inclined;
No little girl could sew, or hem,
Or stitch, or mend, like Sarah M----.

Her father had not wealth to spare,
And many children claimed his care,
So little Sarah early learned,
That her own living must be earned.

Yet no complaining Sallie made,
That she must work while others played,
But set about with right good will,
The task her fingers should fulfil.

Though aching head and weary sight
Were sometimes hers, her heart was light,
And equal was her well-earned store,
For clothes to wear, and even more.

Thus, while from day to day she drew
Her ready needle through and through,
She gained far more than worldly pelf,
She learned to commune with herself.

And this communion, deep and still,
Soon led her heart to know its ill,
And ask her Maker to impart,
For Jesus’ sake, a holy heart.

Now, had she spent in early days,
Her time in idleness and plays,
At work repining, sought her joys
With careless girls and idle boys--

Her after years had never known
The independence now her own;
Perhaps those wasted hours had even
Dispelled the thoughts which turned to heaven.

But care and industry are found,
With, heaven and earth’s best blessing crown’d
And those who truly value them,
Should early do like Sarah M----.




THE PROUD GIRL.


JANE.

What makes you wear that muslin dress,
  And such a strong, coarse leather shoe,
With cotton stockings, cambric gloves,
  And such a coarse straw bonnet, too?

See here! my shoes are real kid;
  Just look at them--see how they shine;
My stocking’s silk, my bonnet’s new,
  And only see the straw, how fine!

Why, I should fret myself to death,
  If I were dressed as mean as you;
I always cry and tease mamma
  For everything I see that’s new.


MARY.

What! cry and tease your dear mamma
  For finery? That would not I;
I would not grieve her for the world,
  And she would grieve to see me cry.

She gives me everything she can,
  And that is everything I want;
And I should be a wicked child,
  To ask for more than she could grant.

But, Jane, from what you say yourself,
  You’re never happy, and your pride
Is such, that, with this finery,
  You never are quite satisfied.


JANE.

But what if there should be a ball,
  And you should have a chance to go,
Where every one is richly dressed,
  Would you appear among them so?


MARY.

A ball! I never went to one;
  I do not care for scenes so gay;
But with the birds and trees and flowers,
  I can be happy any day.

When dear papa comes home at night,
  I’m joyous as a little bird,
For, after tea, he always tells
  Something amusing he has heard.

[Illustration]

You ought to see our pleasant home,
  Dear Jennie, then you would not say,
That I, from this dear, happy group,
  Could often wish to be away.

Sometimes, he brings us home a book,
  Then, after supper, down we sit,
He reads to us, while dear mamma
  Takes out her work to sew or knit.

Then he will read some wondrous tale,
  How mighty nations rose and fell,
And sometimes lay aside the book,
  And some amusing story tell.

How some have climbed the highest hill,
  And yet have murmur’d all the way,
While others walk along the vale,
  As pleasant as a summer’s day.

“My children,” he will often say,
  “You know I cannot give you wealth;
But you have riches dearer far,
  And these are innocence and health.

“While thus you live in peace and love,
  Contented with the blessings given,
And grateful to your God, I trust
  He’ll fit you for the joys of heaven.”

Then, ere we go to bed at night,
  We kneel together while he prays
That God would fill our hearts with love,
  And help us serve him all our days.

But see! while I stand talking here,
  The cars are in--papa has come!
Now you may go and dance at balls,
  But I’ll enjoy myself at home.

[Illustration]




WILLIE’S FEARS.

PART I.


Willie was nicely tucked in bed
  One cold December night,
When he began to scream “Mamma,
  Come quick, and bring a light!

“Oh, I’m so frightened, dear mamma;
  What is that noise? Do hark!
Please do not take the candle off
  And leave me in the dark.”

“I hear no noise,” his mother said;
  “What makes my boy so silly?
And what good can the candle do,
  My darling little Willie?

“Who did you ask to care for you,
  When you knelt down to pray,
Before I put you into bed,
  And took the light away?

“Remember, love, you prayed to God,
  And all the long night through,
He will keep watch around your bed,
  And take good care of you.

“What could it be, my little son,
  That gave you such a fright?
When you are safe in bed, you know,
  I always take the light.”

“I know you do, but Biddie told
  A story yesterday
That frightened me; please, dear mamma
  Don’t take the light away.”

“I’ll leave the light with you to-night;
  Since Biddie was so silly;
Now think, my dear, your Father’s near,
  To guard his little Willie.”




WILLIE’S FEARS.

PART II.


MOTHER.

Come, Willie, and tell me, my dear,
  What made you so foolish, last night;
I am waiting this morning to hear
  The cause of your terrible fright.


WILLIE.

Biddie said that a wolf would come out
  And catch me if I was not good;
That is what I was thinking about
  When I screamed just as loud as I could.


MOTHER.

And where would a wolf come from, pray;
  Biddy could not find one, should she try.
’T was a wicked thing for her to say,--
  She knew she was telling a lie.

Examine your chamber, my dear;
  Look carefully round before night,
And if you can find a wolf here,
  I will certainly leave you a light.


WILLIE.

Mamma, you are laughing at me,
  There’s no wolf anywhere to be found;
I know there is nothing to see
  If I take all the day to look round.


MOTHER.

Then I hope you will not be afraid;
  Now tell me, my son, if you’re able,
Of what mamma’s candles are made,
  You see one stand there on the table.


WILLIE.

Of tallow and cotton, mamma;
  The candles are run in a mould.
I went up one day with papa
  To the factory where they are sold.


MOTHER.

Can tallow and cotton, my son,
  Protect you from harm thro’ the night,
When into a mould it is run,
  And made in a candle to light?


WILLIE.

The candle could not see or hear,
  And I’ll try to remember to-night,
That God my kind Father is near,
  Then, mamma, I’ll not ask for a light.




“CREATE IN ME A CLEAN HEART,
O GOD!”


Savior, keep me near thy side,
  Take my hand within thine own,
I would be thy little child,
  Leave me not to walk alone.

“Suffer little ones to come,”
  Thou didst say, when here on earth;
Let my feet no longer roam,
  I would know thy heavenly birth.

Take my wicked heart away,
  Make me holy like thy Son;
Leave me not from thee to stray,
  Leave me not to walk alone.




[Illustration] THE HELEN MARIA.


With sails all set
  To catch the breeze,
This noble ship
  Now ploughs the seas.

May God in safety
  Kindly keep
Our loved ones while
  Upon the deep!




THE YOUTHFUL KING.


How much God’s holy Book was prized
  By King Josiah in his youth!
At eight years old his reign began,
  When no one served the Lord in truth.

His ancestors were wicked men,
  And walked not in God’s holy ways,
But filled Jerusalem with sin,
  And worshipped idols all their days.

The youthful king desired to know
  How to avoid the ways of sin;
He wished to live as David did,
  And have his heart made pure within.

Go to the Book of Kings, and learn
  What joy he felt when Shaphan brought
From God’s high priest his holy law,
  And how he had his people taught

That precious Book to understand,
  And take it for their daily guide;
To love the Lord with all their hearts,
  And serve no other gods beside.

Make thou that precious Book, O Lord,
  A light to guide _me_ all the way;
May it direct my steps at night,
  And safely lead me through the day.

I love to read those precious words,
  Sweet truths I meet on every page;
Oh, may they be my hope in youth,
  And my support in hoary age.




THE LITTLE BOY’S REQUEST.

Sent to the Fulton Street Prayer Meeting in the summer of 1858.


I am a little boy of twelve, and always tell the truth;
O pray for me, that I may love the Savior in my youth.
Thus from the sunny South that precious message came
To those who meet in Fulton street to pray in Jesus’ name.

Dear little boy in Georgia, oh write once more, and say
That you “stand up for Jesus,” that you have found the way,--
The narrow way that leads to Heaven; then we once more in prayer
Will thank our heavenly Father, who hath sweetly brought you there.




THE INFANT SAVIOR.


CHILD.

Mamma, ’tis strange that God most high
Could come to earth to live and die;
’Tis wonderful that he could be
Just such a little child as me!

That he should need a mother’s care,
For food to eat and clothes to wear;--
How did the Virgin Mary know
That he was Lord of all below?


MOTHER.

His coming, Lillie, was foretold
By many holy men of old,
And angels had been sent to tell
That this dear child she loved so well

Should be her Savior, Christ the Lord,
And she believed his precious Word;
Mary oft pondered in her heart
Those things the angels did impart.


CHILD.

How could they be so very poor,
When Christ was Lord of all? I’m sure,
I should have thought that he would come
To live in some delightful home.

He could have had the sweetest spot
In all the world,--why did he not?
Why did the infant Savior lie
In a poor stable? Tell me why

He did not have a home like ours,
With a nice garden, full of flowers
And trees, where lovely birds should sing,
To cheer the infant Savior King?


MOTHER.

When Jesus came to save our race,
He meant to show such wondrous grace,
That rich and poor alike might see
He condescends their Friend to be.

The poorest child may never fear
To pour its wants into his ear,
For Jesus, though a king above,
Looks down with sympathy and love.

He knows exactly what we need,
And he will be our Friend indeed,
Will kindly listen to our prayer,
And all our little sorrows share.




THE TWO COUSINS.


Two wee-bit cousins went out to ride,
Their carriages rolling side by side;
The air was not damp, or chilly, or raw,
But as bright a day as ever you saw.

Two prettier babies one seldom sees;
Nurse often was stopped with remarks like these:
“What beautiful children! Whose can they be?
Do stop those nurses and let us see!”

The beauty of each the ladies compare:
“This one is so lovely! do see how fair
Her little round face, so plump and sweet!
I must kiss the child though it is in the street.”

“No,--her little cousin is prettier far;
I like a brunette; she will be a bright star.”
The nurses move on, well pleased, I fear,
Such flattering remarks from the ladies to hear.

Had they seen these children in Water street,
In ragged garments and naked feet,
They would not have stopped them on the way,
And flattered them so, I think, to-day.




[Illustration]


What a sight
  They descry
When Trenton Falls
  Meet their eye!




[Illustration] PRECIOUS BIBLE.


How many nations
  Ne’er have heard
The precious truths
  Of God’s own Word;

That the dear Savior
  Came to die,
That we might dwell
  With him on high.

If you had never
  Heard of God,
Nor ever read
  His Holy Word,

How very thankful
  You would be,
A copy of God’s
  Book to see!

Then, save your pennies,
  Children dear,
That all, these precious
  Truths may hear.




THE SACRIFICE.


How hard it was for Abraham
  To say, God’s will be done,
When he was called to offer up
  His dear,--his only son.

“Take Isaac, now, thine only son,”
  (This was the Lord’s command,)
“And offer him a sacrifice,
  To die by thine own hand.”

But Abraham believed that God,
  His Father, always knew
Just what was right, and could not tell
  Him a wrong thing to do.

He did not stop to question God,
  But rose at early dawn,
Saddled his ass, and called his son,
  To go that very morn

A three days journey to a spot
  Which God to them would show;
And Isaac, with the two young men,
  At once prepared to go.

At length the Mount appeared in sight,
  And Abraham told his men,
“I yonder go to worship God,
  And will come back again.”

Much Isaac wondered what it meant,
  But he obeyed his sire,
And took the wood upon his arms,
  To build his funeral pyre.

Upon the mountain now they stand,
  And Isaac meekly cries,
“Behold the fire and wood! but where’s
  The lamb for sacrifice?”

When they had reached Moriah’s top,
  The father told his son,--
And Isaac willingly was bound,
  That God’s will might be done.

Upon the altar, then, the wood
  Was all in order laid,
And Abraham took the knife in hand,--
  That knife with naked blade.

Then quick an angel of the Lord
  Was sent from heaven above,
To gladden faithful Abraham’s heart
  With these sweet words of love.

“Lay not thy hand upon the lad,
  For now, indeed, I see
Thou fearest God, nor hast withheld
  Thine only son from me.

“And now in blessing I will bless
  Thee and thy numerous seed;
All those who have thy simple faith
  Shall be my friends[5] indeed.

“When I shall give mine only Son
  To die on Calvary,
The Lamb of God for sinners slain,
  Thine offspring he shall be.”

And has “Our Father” sent his Son,
  His only Son, from heaven
To die for us that we might live
  And have our sins forgiven?

Lord, help me, then, to read thy Word,
  Believing all it saith;
For I may be a friend of God,
  If I have Abraham’s faith.




“REMEMBER THE SABBATH DAY,
TO KEEP IT HOLY.”


I love the Sabbath day,
  Of all the days the best;
Thy sacred hours are sweet to me,
  Oh, day of holy rest!

I love the Sabbath bell,
  It says, “Do not delay;
Hasten, dear children, from your homes;
  Come, worship God to-day.

I love the Sabbath School;
  Oft, as I take my seat,
I pray that early I may learn
  To sit at Jesus’ feet.

Oh, blessed Sabbath day,
  Thou best of all the seven;
Thy precious hours I would improve,
  To fit my soul for heaven!

[Illustration]




CHARLIE AND HIS YOUTHFUL
TEACHER.


“Come, now, my dear boy, confess what you’ve done,
    To your loving, kind Father on high;
You cannot conceal from the All-seeing One
    The fact that you’re telling a lie.”

So said the young teacher of Birmingham school,
    To Charlie, when no one was nigh;
She grieved that her pupil had broken a rule,
    Still more that he’d told her a lie.

His face, once so joyous, was then very sad,
    His heart was too full to reply,
As Miss Mary pressed home on the dear little lad
    The fact of his telling a lie.

“Oh come, now in penitence tell me, dear boy,
    The whole truth, and then we will try
And ask the dear Savior his grace to employ,
    To guard you from telling a lie.”

But, though the child wore a sad look of distress,
    No penitent tear dimm’d his eye;
All arguments failed;--Charlie would not confess
    That he had been telling a lie.

The teacher stood there, with her heart raised in prayer
    To One whom she felt ever nigh;
Oh how could she bear that her pupil should dare
    To grieve him by telling a lie.

“Dear Father, I know not what course to pursue;
    Oh guide me,” she said, with a sigh;
“I am young and too helpless to know what to do
    With a child who is telling a lie.

“Leave not this dear child to perish, I pray,
    Oh listen, and hear my sad cry!
What more can I say? I must send him away,
    He will not repent of this lie.”

A change soon was wrought, when Miss Mary was taught
    By God, her kind Father on high,
That his Word must be brought, and thence must be sought
    His threatenings to those who will lie.

Charlie reads of the joys of the ransomed above,
    And learns that this home in the sky
Forever is closed by our Father in love,
    From those who on earth learn to lie.

To that Heavenly City, so good and so fair,
    The Lamb will a welcome deny,
And no little child can e’er hope to go there,
    “Who loveth and maketh a lie.”[6]

The Bible has conquered! The teacher with joy
    Sees that tears are now filling his eye,
She kneels and implores for her penitent boy
    Forgiveness for telling a lie.




THE SAILOR AND THE MONKEYS.


Once, in the hope of honest gain
  From Afric’s golden store,
A brisk young sailor cross’d the main,
  And landed on her shore.

And leaving soon the sultry strand,
  Where his fair vessel lay,
He travell’d o’er the neighboring land,
  To trade in peaceful way.

Full many a toy had he to sell,
  And caps of scarlet dye,
All such things as he knew full well,
  Would please the native’s eye.

But as he travell’d through the woods,
  He longed to take a nap,
And opening there his pack of goods,
  Took out a scarlet cap,

And drew it on his head, thereby
  To shield him from the sun,
Then soundly slept, nor thought an eye
  Had seen what he had done.

But many a monkey dwelling there,
  Though hidden from his view,
Had closely watched the whole affair,
  And longed to do so too.

And while he slept did each one seize
  A cap to deck his brows,
Then climbing up the highest trees,
  Sat chattering on the boughs.

The sailor wak’d, his caps were gone,
  And loud and long he grieves,
Till, looking up with heart forlorn,
  He spied at once the thieves.

With cap of red upon each head,
  Full fifty faces grim,
The sailor sees amid the trees,
  With eyes all fixed on him.

He brandish’d quick a mighty stick,
  But could not reach their bower,
Nor yet could stone, for every one
  Was far beyond his power.

Alas! he thought, I’ve safely brought
  My caps far over seas,
But could not guess it was to dress
  Such little rogues as these.

Then quickly down he threw his own,
  And loud in anger cried,
“Take this one too, you thievish crew,
  Since you have all beside.”

But, quick as thought the caps were caught
  From every monkey’s crown,
And, like himself, each little elf
  Threw his directly down.

He then with ease did gather these,
  And in his pack did bind,
Then through the woods convey’d his goods
  And sold them to his mind.




[Illustration] THE MORNING WALK.


The sun is up, the air is clear,
  The flowers are blooming all around,
The dew-drops glitter on the grass,
  And pretty daisies deck the ground.

How sweet it is to go abroad,
  And breathe this lovely morning air,
So fragrant with perfume of flowers,
  While everything seems fresh and fair.

The busy insects flitting round,
  The warbling birds on every tree,
Each blade of grass, each opening flower,
  All seem to speak, great God, of thee.

Dear Father, thou hast kindly kept
  Thy child from danger all the night,
And now, my heart is filled with joy,
  As I behold the morning light.

And I would speak of all thy love;
  Oh, fill my heart with grateful praise,
And may I for these bounteous gifts,
  Both love and serve thee all my days.




STRAWBERRY GIRL.


EMILY.

Mamma, do hear Eliza cry!
  She wants a piece of cake, I know,
She will not stir to school without;
  Do give her some, and let her go.


MOTHER.

Oh no, my dear, that will not do,
  She has behaved extremely ill;
She does not think of minding me,
  And tries to gain her stubborn will.

This morning, when she had her milk,
  She gave her spoon a sudden twirl
And threw it all upon the floor;
  Oh, she’s a naughty, wicked girl!

And now, forsooth, she cries for cake,
  But that, my dear, I must refuse,
For children never should object
  To eating what their parents choose.

That pretty little girl who came
  To sell the strawberries here to-day,
Would have been very glad to eat
  What my Eliza threw away;

Because her parents are so poor
  That they have neither milk nor meat,
But gruel and some Indian cake
  Is all the children have to eat.

They have beside three little girls,--
  Mary’s the oldest of them all,--
And hard enough she has to work
  To help the rest, though she’s so small.

As soon as strawberries are ripe,
  She picks all day and will not stop
To play, nor eat a single one
  Till she has filled her basket up.

Then down she comes to sell them all,
  And lays the money up to buy
Her stockings and her shoes to wear
  When cold and wintry storms are nigh.

Then Mary has to trudge away,
  And gather wood thro’ piles of snow,
To keep the little children warm,
  When the frost bites and cold winds blow.

Oh, then, as she comes home at night,
  Hungry and tired, with cold benumb’d,
How would she jump to find a bowl
  Of bread and milk all nicely crumb’d.

But she, dear child, has no such thing;
  Of gruel and some Indian cake,
Whether she chooses it or not,
  Poor Mary must her supper make.

And now, my child, will you behave
  So ill again another day,
Be cross, and pout, and cry for cake,
  And throw your breakfast all away?


ELIZA.

Oh never, never, dear mamma,
  I’m sorry that I gave you pain;
Forgive me, and I never will
  Be such a naughty girl again.




[Illustration] ENVY.


MELINDA.

I wish I had a coach, mamma;
  O, how I should delight to ride,
Like Jennie Wright, where’er I pleased,
  And have a servant at my side.

The other day, as Ann and I
  Were walking down the meadow lane,
With John and Mary Anna Smith,
  Who should go by but little Jane!

The man drove slow, that Miss might view
  The charming prospect all around;
How proud she felt that she could ride,
  While we were walking on the ground!

We all ran off and left the coach,
  But while we gathered flowers for you,
Mamma, the servant followed us,
  For Miss must have some daisies too.

She seemed resolved to let us know
  That she could have just what she pleased,
Then the new coach whirled off, and so
  I really hope her mind was eased.

What was it, ma, that vexed me so
  And spoiled the pleasure of the day?
I should have had a charming walk
  If that old coach had kept away.


MOTHER.

’Twas envy, child, an odious sin,
  That springs from ignorance and pride;
You grieved to see another taste
  Enjoyments to yourself denied.

That little Miss you envied so
  Lived six long months in constant pain,
Then the disorder seized her feet,
  And she will never walk again.

I chanced to be at Mr. Wright’s
  That very day, when Jane came home;
Her brother took her in his arms,
  And brought her sobbing to the room.

Her mother tenderly enquired
  What made her weep. “Alas!” she cried,
“Why, mother, will you urge your child
  To seek for pleasure in a ride?

“At first, I looked with some delight
  On the sweet fields so green and gay,
When happy children passed along,
  As merry as the birds in May.

“They laughed, they jumped, they climbed the hedge,
  For flowers their pretty wreaths to twine,
And then they wandered through the fields,
  To gather blackberries from the vine.

“I wept, that with such joyous sports
  I never more could take a part;
Kind Peter saw how sad I felt,
  And tried to cheer my heavy heart.

“He brought me berries from the vine,
  He gathered daisies nice and sweet;
But on the flowers I could not look,
  The blackberries I could not eat.

“Oh, turn, I said, and drive me home,
  Each object gives my heart a pain,
And let me in my chamber hide,
  And never see a coach again.”

Now, dear Melinda, do you wish
  That you was Jennie Wright, to ride
In a new coach whene’er you please,
  And have a servant at your side?


MELINDA.

Oh, no, indeed; for now, mamma,
  I see how wicked I have been;
You spoke most truly when you said
  That envy was an odious sin.

Poor Jennie Wright! how very strange
  That I should think her proud or vain;
How wicked and unkind it was
  For me to envy little Jane.

I shall feel thankful I can walk
  Whene’er I chance a coach to meet;
Nor envy those again who ride,
  So long as I can use my feet.

[Illustration]




REMEMBER THE POOR.

    “The poor ye have always with you, and when ye will ye may do them
    good."--[WORDS OF JESUS.


God’s blessing on those
  Who remember the poor!
If I had been born
  In the Five Points, I’m sure

I should have been grateful
  For work and for food;
And this House of Industry
  Must do them great good.

Our hearts should be filled
  With pity for those
Who suffer in winter
  For want of warm clothes.

Who suffer with hunger
  For want of nice bread,
While we from God’s bounty
  Are constantly fed.

Then let us remember
  How much they endure,--
Those dear little children
  So wretched and poor,

And do what we can
  To provide them with food,
For all our spare pennies
  Would do them great good.




HOLIDAY GIFT.


MOTHER.

My children, I am glad to see
  Your holidays have come;
For much it does delight my heart
  To see you all at home.

And that you have behaved so well,
  Gives me still greater joy;
For greatly does your happiness
  Your mother’s thoughts employ.

The promise that I gave you all
  Most strictly I regard,
And dearly do I love to give
  My children their reward.

So here is a guinea, Charles, for you,
  To buy that pretty sword,
Which, when you asked me for last spring,
  I could not then afford.

And, Emma, one for you and Ann,
  Between you to divide;
As Charles is older than yourselves,
  I hope you’re satisfied.


EMMA.

Oh yes, mamma, ’tis quite enough,
  We could not wish for more;
We never in our lives have had
  One half as much before.


CHARLES.

Mamma, you seem to be perplexed
  With some unpleasant care;
You smile, but then ’tis not the smile
  That I have seen you wear.

Pray, tell me is it anything
  That I have said or done?
I hope, mamma, I never shall
  Be an ungrateful son.


MOTHER.

Oh, no, my child; you ever have
  Been dutiful and kind,
But still, there is a circumstance
  That has perplexed my mind.

You know that worthy family
  That lived up on the hill,--
Poor Mr. Smith, the clever man,
  That used to tend the mill.

Last spring, his wife and little ones
  Were very sick, you know;
When they recovered, he was seized,
  And died a week ago.

This very morning, Mrs. Smith
  Came here to ask relief;
Poor woman! she looked pale and thin,
  And overwhelmed with grief.

“Dear madam, I am grieved to come
  And trouble you,” she said;
“But new afflictions seem to fall
  In torrents on my head.

“Some time before my husband died,
  We owed a quarter’s rent,
He laid it up, and would, no doubt,
  Have paid it--every cent.

“But when our earnings all were stopp’d,
  And we so long were ill,
I was obliged to take it all,
  To pay the doctor’s bill.

“This very morn our landlord came,
  And sternly bade me pay;
I told him all, and begged he’d wait
  A little longer day.

“‘Wait longer? No, indeed I wont;
  Too long I have waited now;
So pay, or you’ll march out of doors,
  And I shall take your cow.’”

The widow wept, and then she said,
  “I am willing to be poor,--
But yet to lose my only cow
  Seems too much to endure.”


CHARLES.

Here, take this money, ma, and pay
  As far as it will go;
I had rather never have a sword
  Than she should suffer so.


EMMA AND ANN.

And ours, mamma; do take it all,
  To pay that cruel man;
And pray make haste before he comes
  To frighten them again.


MOTHER.

Come to my arms, my precious ones,
  I only meant to see
Whether your little hearts were warmed
  With sweet humanity.

I’ll take your money for this debt,--
  And never did I pay
A sum away with such delight,
  As I shall do this day.

Come, then, my children, let us go;
  It is a bless’d employ
To cheer the widow’s heart and fill
  The fatherless with joy.

[Illustration]

Oh, do not neglect
  Your practice, my dear;
Papa will expect
  Some good music to hear;
For he has been absent
  Almost a whole year.




[Illustration] NURSERY CHILDREN NEEDING HOMES.


“Two orphan children, under five,
  With pleasant, sunny faces,
Brother and sister, much attached,
  Are candidates for ‘places.’”

Thus writes a lady from the Home;
  And Fred has asked papa,
To take them both, and let them live
  With him and dear mamma.

Papa replies: “My dear, I think
  We’ve boys enough already;
But we will take the little girl--
  A play-mate for our Freddy.”

O, must these little orphans part?
  What will the poor boy do?
He hesitates a moment, then
  He says, “we’ll take the two!

“For ’twould be very hard, to part
  The sister from her brother;
Poor little friendless ones, who now
  So dearly love each other.

“Mamma will not consent, I’m sure,
  These orphans thus to part,
There’s room enough to hold them both,
  In her warm, loving heart.”

Fred runs at once to ask mamma,
  If she will be a mother
To this dear little girl and boy--
  The sister and the brother.

She prays her Savior, then, to guide,
  And teach her what to do;
Fred soon returns to tell papa,--
  “Yes; we must take the two!”

For while she knelt in earnest prayer,
  The Savior seemed to say,
In sweetest accents to her heart,
  “Work, while ’tis called to-day.

“Take these dear little orphans home--
  Go, feed these lambs for me,
And I will care for you and yours,
  I will your Savior be.”

Oh, will not other parents hear,
  The Savior sweetly plead,
_For my sake_, take these orphans home,
  And be my friends indeed.




ALMIRA AND MINNIE.


MOTHER.

Almira, go and get your work,
  And sit with me, my dear;
And, Minnie, you may read to us,--
  We will with pleasure hear.

Two little misses thus employed
  Is a delightful sight;
Then after tea the time’s your own,
  And you may play till night.

Minnie, why do you look displeased?
  Don’t you approve my plan?
Well, alter it yourself, my dear;
  Improve it if you can.


MINNIE.

I’m tired of sitting here alone,
  Mamma, with only you;
I’m tired of work, indeed I am,
  I’m tired of reading, too.

And only just Almira here,
  And Fido now to play;
If I’d my will I’d go abroad
  Most gladly every day.


MOTHER.

Minnie, do you know Peggy Hill,
  That little, modest child,
Who sometimes comes on errands here?
  She lives with Mrs. Wild.

She came the other day when you
  Was sitting here with me;
Almira sewed, you had a book,
  And read quite prettily.

She tried to do her errand twice;
  But when she came to speak,
I saw her turn aside and wipe
  A tear from off her cheek.

I thought it strange, and led her out;
  “What ails you, child,” said I;
“Pray have you hurt yourself, or what
  Can thus have made you cry?”

“Oh, no,” she said, “I am not hurt;
  I am to blame, I fear;
But such a tender sight as this
  Will always force a tear.

“For I had tender parents once,--
  Affectionate and kind;
But they are dead; they both have gone,
  And left their child behind.

“I had a little sister, too,
  And many a pleasant day
We with our mother worked and read
  The cheerful hours away.

“But when we lost our parents, ma’am,
  Our living all was fled;
And we were placed in strangers’ hands,
  To earn our daily bread.

“My sister could not long support
  The hardship of her fate;
She left this miserable world
  And sought a happier state.

“Since then I have mourn’d my heavy lot;
  Alone, without relief,--
I have no friend to pity me
  Or listen to my grief.

“My mistress lives in wealth and ease,
  From want and sorrow free;
She never knew what labor was,
  Nor can she feel for me.

“I work from morn till night, and try
  To please her all the while,
And think sometimes I’d give the world
  Just for one pleasant smile.

“But every day I give offence,
  In spite of all my care;
And cruel words from day to day,
  It is my lot to bear.”


MINNIE.

Oh, how I pity Peggy Hill!
  Her case is sad indeed;
I’m thankful for my happy home,--
  Dear mother, let me read.

And let Almira get her work;--
  Fido, you run away
Till after tea, then on the green
  We’ll run, and jump, and play.

[Illustration]




THE INDIAN AND THE PLANTER.


By the door of his house a planter stood,
  In fair Virginia’s clime,
When the setting sun had tinged the wood
  With its golden hue sublime.

The lands of this planter were broadly spread,
  He lacked not gold or gear,
And his house had plenty of meat and bread
  To make them goodly cheer.

An Indian came from the forest deep,
  A hunter in weary plight,
Who in humble accents asked to sleep
  ’Neath the planter’s roof that night.

To the Indian’s need he took no heed,
  But forbade his longer stay;
“Then give me,” he said, “but a crust of bread,
  And I’ll travel on my way.”

In wrath the planter this denied,
  Forgetting the golden rule;
“Then give me, for mercy’s sake,” he cried,
  “A cup of water cool.

“All day I have travell’d o’er fen and bog,
  In chase of the bounding deer;”
“Away,” cried the planter, “you Indian dog,
  For you shall have nothing here.”

The Indian turned to his distant home,
  Though hungry and travel sore,
And the planter enter’d his goodly dome,
  Nor thought of the Indian more.

When the leaves were sere, to chase the deer,
  This self same planter went,
And bewildered stood, in a dismal wood,
  When the day was fully spent.

He had lost his way in the chase that day,
  And in vain to find it tried,
When a glimmering light fell on his sight,
  From a wigwam close beside.

He thither ran, and a savage man
  Received him as a guest;
He brought him cheer, the flesh of deer,
  And gave him of the best.

Then kindly spread for the white man’s bed,
  His softest skins beside,
And at break of day, through the forest way,
  Went forth to be his guide.

At the forest’s verge, did the planter urge,
  His service to have paid,
But the savage bold refused his gold,
  And thus to the white man said:

“I came of late to the white man’s gate,
  And weary and faint was I,
Yet neither meat, nor water sweet,
  Did the Indian’s wants supply.

“Again should he come to the white man’s home
  My service let him pay,
Nor say, again to the fainting man,
  You ‘Indian dog, away!’”




THE INDIAN AND THE BASKET.[7]


Among Rhode Island’s early sons,
    Was one whose orchards fair,
By plenteous and well-flavored fruit,
    Rewarded all his care.

For household use they stored the best,
    And all the rest conveyed
To neighboring mill, were ground and press’d,
    And into cider made.

The wandering Indian oft partook
    The generous farmer’s cheer;
He liked his food, but better still
    His cider fine and clear.

And as he quaff’d the pleasant draught,
    The kitchen fire before,
He longed for some to carry home,
    And asked for more and more.

The farmer saw a basket new
    Beside the Indian bold,
And smiling said, “I’ll give to you
    As much as that will hold.”

Both laughed, for how could liquid thing
    Within a basket stay;
But yet the jest unanswering,
    The Indian went his way,

When next from rest the farmer sprung,
    So very cold the morn,
The icicles like diamonds hung
    On every spray and thorn.

The brook that babbled by his door
    Was deep, and clear, and strong,
And yet unfettered by the frost,
    Leaped merrily along.

The self-same Indian by this brook.
    The astonished farmer sees;
He laid his basket in the stream,
    Then hung it up to freeze.

And by this process oft renewed,
    The basket soon became
A well-glazed vessel, tight and good,
    Of most capacious frame.

The door he entered speedily,
    And claim’d the promis’d boon,
The farmer, laughing heartily,
    Fulfilled his promise soon.

Up to the basket’s brim he saw
    The sparkling cider rise,
And to rejoice his absent squaw,
    He bore away the prize.

Long lived the good man at the farm,--
    The house is standing still,
And still leaps merrily along,
    The much diminished rill.

And his descendants still remain,
    And tell to those who ask it,
The story they have often heard
    About the INDIAN’S BASKET.




[Illustration] GRANDMAMMA’S STORY.


Oh, tell some tales of ancient times,
  Dear grandmamma, again;
When you was young as we are now,
  Said little Mary Jane.

She raised her mild blue eyes, and said,
  I have a tale to tell,
Which once I read, when I was young,
  And now remember well.

My mother bought the book for me,
  And brought it home one day,
When I had been a naughty girl,
  And passionate at play.

Although the tale was very sad,
  I tell it now, that you
May see what very wicked things,
  An angry child may do.


GRANDMAMMA’S STORY OF THE BLIND
CHILD.

Some ladies once agreed with me,
  To give our little ones a sail;
The day was fine, the summer wind
  Just blew a soft and pleasant gale.

We stepped on board a pleasure boat,
  With gayest colors painted o’er,
And in the bosom of the stream,
  We sweetly sailed along the shore.

Our children could not keep their seats,
  But every sportive girl and boy,
With hearts as cheerful as the day,
  Did skip about the deck for joy;

Except one pretty little girl,
  Who sat alone with downcast eye,
And now and then I saw a tear,
  And thought I heard a broken sigh.

I wondered much that one so young,
  Should seem so pensively inclined,
And asked her mother what it meant;
  “Alas!” said she, “the child is blind.

“One day, I never shall forget,
  She and her brother were at play;
Something she said offended him,
  And so they had a childish fray.

“She turned her head and gave a look,
  ’T was half a smile and half grimace;
His temper rose,--he caught a fork
  And threw it in his sister’s face.

“It struck her eye, the blood gushed out,
  He screamed, and turn’d as pale as death;
Oh, never shall my memory lose
  That dreadful scene while I have breath.

“For three long, melancholy months,
  We kept her in a darkened room,
With a close bandage round her eyes,
  Where not a ray of light could come.

“The doctors tried their utmost skill
  To keep her sight, but all in vain;
At length the wounded eyes were healed,
  But she will never see again.

“Her brother’s heart is almost broke;
  ‘Oh, Harriet,’ he often cries,
‘If I was owner of the world,
  I’d give it to restore your eyes.

“‘But you will laugh and play no more,
  Nor your dear parents’ faces see,
Nor trees, nor fields, nor blooming flowers,
  And never will you look on me.

“‘Oh, wrretched, miserable boy!
  What has my wicked temper done;
I’ve shut my dear, dear sister’s eyes
  Forever from the cheerful sun!’”

This story, children, made me feel
  How very wicked I had been;
To lose my temper when at play,
  I felt to be a grievous sin.

And now, my dears, said grandmamma,
  May this sad tale I’ve told to-day
Lead you to guard your hearts with care,
  And ne’er be angry when at play.




BLACKBERRY GIRL.

PART II.

Part I. in “Songs for Little Ones at Home.”


“What have you in that basket, child?”
  “They are blackberries, Miss, all picked to-day;
They’re very nice, and fully ripe;--Do
  look at them, and taste them, pray.”

“Oh, yes, they are very nice indeed!
  Here’s four-pence, that will buy a few,
Not quite so many as I could eat;
  However, I must make them do.”

“No, Miss; but you must take the whole.”
  “I can’t, indeed, my money’s spent;
I should be glad to buy them all,
  But I have not another cent.

“And if you had a thousand, Miss,
  I’d not accept of one from you;
Pray take them! they are all your own,
  And take the little basket, too.

“Have you forgot that little girl
  You last year gave a bonnet to?
You may, perhaps, but ever will
  That little girl remember you.

“For ever since I’ve been to church,--
  And much do I delight to go,--
For there I learned the way to heaven,
  Which I so long had wished to know.

“One day I thought within myself,
  That pretty basket Billy wove
I’ll fill with fruit for that dear Miss,
  For sure ’t will be a work of love.

“And so, this morning, up I rose,
  While yet the fields were wet with dew,
And picked the nicest I could find,
  And brought them fresh and sweet to you.

“I know the gift is small, indeed,
  For such a lady to receive;
But yet, I hope you’ll not refuse
  All that poor Phebe has to give.”




SUPPER FOR THE ROBINS.


These dear little birdies
  Will not fly away;
They come for their breakfast
  And supper each day.

They come in the morning,
  At noon, and at night,
And always are welcomed
  With greatest delight.

And crumbs in abundance
  They always have found
Just under the window,
  Spread out on the ground.

Now Minnie and Ella
  Are watching to see
Their dear little robins
  Come down from the tree,

Where they have been warbling
  A beautiful lay,
To charm the dear children
  At close of the day.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]




BREAKFAST FOR THE ROBINS


When supper is over,
  The birds fly away,
And sing a new song
  At dawn of the day.

These sweet little robins
  Such lovely notes raise,
They seem to be singing
  Their Creator’s praise.

Awake, little Minnie!
  Come, Ella, arise!
The sun is beginning
  His course in the skies.

Your birdies already
  Are waiting for you
To give them their breakfast;
  Now what will you do?

They rouse from their slumbers,
  Then kneel down to pray;--
Thus Minnie and Ella
  Begin the new day.

Before their own breakfast
  Is ready, they go
To see if the robins
  Are waiting below.

And there one dear songster
  Is sure to be found
As soon as his breakfast
  Is spread on the ground.




THE WIDOW OF ZAREPHATH.


No rain had descended, the fountains were dry,
  The streamlets no water afford;
No clouds, thick and heavy, bespoke a supply,
When a voice to Elijah descends from on high,
  And spoke the commands of the Lord.

Arise, O Elijah! to Zion repair,
  Awhile in Zarephath remain;
A poor widow woman will welcome thee there,
To thee of her little a portion will spare,
  And with food and with water sustain.

The Prophet arose at the heav’nly desire,
  His steps to Zarephath he bound,
When lo! the poor widow in humble attire,
And busied with gathering sticks for her fire,
  At the gates of the city he found.

He said, “I have travelled a wearisome way;
  From Cherith to-day I have hied;
I have passed by no fountain my thirst to allay,
Then fetch me a draught of cold water, I pray,
  Lest I perish with thirst at thy side.”

She turned, and again to the woman he spoke,
  “A stranger am I in the land,
And since in compassion my thirst thou wilt slake,
Remember I also am hunger’d, and take
  A morsel of bread in thy hand.”

She answered, “As liveth thy Maker and Lord,
  No bread for thy hunger have I;
Of oil but a little my cruise can afford,
But an handful of meal in my barrel is stor’d,
  And from none can I ask a supply.

“For fuel to dress this small portion, to-day,
  To the gates of the city I hie,
And now with these sticks I return on my way,
That my son and myself may our hunger allay,
  Then calmly resign us to die.”

Then answered Elijah, “As thou hast begun,
  Go on till thy home shall appear;
Make cakes of thy meal, and first bake for me one,
Then after another for thee and thy son,
  And your hunger allay without fear.

“For thus saith thy Maker, the meal shall not waste,
  And the oil in the cruise shall not fail,
But thou and thy household his bounty shall taste,
Till the day when his wrath and his anger is past,
  And showers of plenty prevail.”

No need had Elijah the words to repeat,--
  To the house of the widow he went;
Many days he sojourned in the quiet retreat,
And she, and her son, and the prophet did eat,
  And the oil and the meal were not spent.

Yet more would you hear how this widow was bless’d,
  How her son from the dead was restored,
Go turn to the Book where the tale is express’d,
  Of Elijah, beloved of the Lord.




SKATING.


Do not fear
  To venture out,
Tho’ Jack Frost
  May be about.

Come, enjoy
  This bracing air;
Ice is solid
  Everywhere.

It is safe
  To skate or slide;
See how swiftly
  Now we glide!

O’er the pond,
  All together;--
Oh, what healthy,
  Charming weather!

[Illustration]




TO MY INFANT NEPHEW.


Is this new life so sweet to thee, my little baby boy,
That thus thy minutes seem to be a constant course of joy?
I gaze upon thy laughing face, I hear thy joyous tone,
Till the glad feeling of thy heart oft passes to my own.

No titled infant for whose brow a coronet shines fair
Is blest with better health than thou or nursed with tenderer care;
And be it prince or peasant’s child, the station high or low,
These blessings are the only ones its earliest days can know.

I would not damp thy present joy with tales of future care,
Nor paint the ills of life, dear boy, which thou must feel and bear;
The early dew is fair to view although it vanish soon,
And lovely is the morning flower that withers when ’tis noon.

Thy heavenly Father, by whose will a living soul is thine,
By his good Spirit visits still this heritage divine,
And children who in innocence the path of life hath trod,
Hear often in their tender minds the indwelling voice of God.

As reason dawns, as mind expands, in childhood’s opening day,
Thou oft wilt hear his high commands, to shun the evil way;
And every evil thought resigned to this divine control,
Will bring a sweetness to thy mind, a blessing to thy soul.

Dear as thy welfare is to me, I cannot frame a thought,
I cannot breathe a wish for thee with happiness more fraught,
Than that this heavenly Friend may prove the Ruler of thy way,
And thy young heart incline to love, to hearken, and obey.




SLEEP, LITTLE BIRDIE!


Hush, little birdie,
  I’ll sing you a song,
One that is sweet,
  And not very long;
          Peep! peep!
          Go to sleep!

Lullaby, birdie!
  While taking your rest,--
Nothing shall harm you,
  You’re safe in your nest.
          Peep! peep!
          Go to sleep!




THE WOUNDED FOOT.


The children are grieved, for the poor little boy
  Has wounded his foot with a thorn;
And Willie and Fred have left their play,
  And both of them have gone

To ask mamma to run to the spot,
  And try to relieve the pain;
She will help the dear boy, but he must not run
  Without stockings and shoes again.

[Illustration]




LITTLE ELLEN’S REQUEST.


“I do not like this dress of mine,”
  Said little Ellen to her mother;
“The girls at school are dressed so fine,--
  I wish that I could have another.

“Do buy me one that’s very gay,
  And a new bonnet trimmed with lace,--
Unless I look as smart as they
  I feel ashamed to show my face.”

Her mother said, “ Ellen, my dear,
  Your clothes, I’m sure, are very good;
Nor would I wish you to appear
  So fine and gaudy if you could.

“I try to dress you neat and plain,
  That I may buy you useful books;
And if you’re neither proud nor vain,
  I’m sure our friends will like your looks.

“Whene’er I dress you, I must say,
  Would God be pleased with things like these?
For, Ellen, we must seek each day
  In all we do our God to please.




MILKING THE COWS.


’T was near the close of day, yet bright
  The sun shone o’er the hill,
And pour’d a flood of golden light
  On every object still.

With hat in hand, and reeking brows,
  Did little Thomas come,
For he had helped to bring the cows
  From distant pasture home.

Now, seated on the gray stone wall
  Which all the yard surrounds,
His eye attentive noted all
  That passed within its bounds.

With snow-white pail, the dairy’s pride,
  Each milker seated low,
Rested his head against the side
  Of every gentle cow.

From Brown and Pied, from Black and Red,
  The milk with care was drawn;
But Brindle fiercely shook her head
  And raised her pointed horn.

Away she ran; but boy and man
  Soon overtook and tied her,
And sturdy Ben, to milk her then,
  Sat closely down beside her.

So! So! they cried, stand steady now.
  But all would not avail,
For with her foot the restless cow
  Soon overthrew the pail.

On dirt and sward the milk was pour’d
  By Brindle’s luckless blow,
And in a pen they put her then
  Till she could gentle grow.

The rest were sent, the milking done,
  To graze in grassy field,
Till summon’d by the rising sun
  Their morning’s milk to yield.




LOST CHILD.


In Newport, through the silent street
  At midnight came a hum
Of voices and of passing feet,
  And loudly-beaten drum.

A child was lost,--none could be found
  In alley, street, or lane;
His friends in sorrow searched around,
  But search was all in vain.

Though many a lantern lent its aid
  And torches beamed on high,
In vain the mournful party stray’d
  Till morning lit the sky.

Then by the water’s side they came,
  And there, oh, sad to say!
All cold and wet, his lifeless frame
  Upon the sea-weed lay.

That morning, when he strayed from home,
  Poor little Johnnie plann’d
Along the water’s edge to roam,
  Among the yellow sand.

And, as he sported free from care
  The slippery rocks around,
The rising tide surprised him there,
  And there the boy was drowned.

They bore him home, a mournful sight,
  Then, speedily arrayed,
His little form in spotless white
  Was in a coffin laid.

Next came his friends, a mournful band,
  To form the funeral throng,
Where many children hand in hand
  Walked silently along.

In grave-yard green may now be seen
  O’er Johnnie’s grave a stone,
And letters fair engraven there
  His name and age make known.




GOD, THE GREAT CREATOR.


“Dear mother,” one morning a little boy said,
“Pray tell me by whom this fine country was made;
At home in our town, where the houses are thick,
I know how they make them of timber and brick.

“I have seen how the mason and carpenter, too,
With trowel and hammer their labors pursue;
But not half so fine do their works all appear
As doth the fair covering that’s everywhere here.

“How lovely this grass with the flowers so sweet!
Nor do I remember a house in the street
So high as that tree where the little bird sings;
Did God, dearest mother, make all these fine things?”

“He did, my dear boy,” did his mother reply;
“Our Father in heaven, who dwells in the sky,
Made all these fine things,--the wide earth and seas,
The hills and the mountains, the rocks and the trees.

“This carpet of grass with its blossoms so fair,
The beasts of the wood and the fowls of the air,--
All my dear boy has seen in sunshine or shade,
His heavenly Father in kindness has made.

“And life, health, and strength he has given to thee,
And hearing, and eye-sight these beauties to see;
O, give him thine heart, then, in grief and in joy;
He will love thee and make thee his own little boy;
Will guard thee in safety thro’ life, and will even
Take thee with him to dwell in his beautiful heaven.”

[Illustration]




TIBBY AND HER KITTEN.


Kit has not a sister,
  Nor has she a brother;
And she is the darling
  Of Tibby, her mother.

She stands there and purrs
  With motherly pride,
While dear little kitty
  Is close by her side.

T ’is pleasant to watch them--
  Now they are at play,
With a round ball between them
  Just rolling away.

If puss could not play
  ’Twould be a great pity;
’Tis only one year
  Since she was a kitty.

How funny it seems,
  That she is a mother;
’Tis only one year
  Since she and her brother

Were found in the stable
  One warm summer day,
Where old Spot had hid them
  So snugly away.

Such wee bits of kitties
  You never did see,
And one was for Willie
  And one was for me.

But one of those kitties
  Strayed off from his mother,
Then my little Tibby
  Had no more a brother.

Now she and old Spot
  Scarce notice each other,
For Tibby, though young,
  Is now a fond mother.

While grandmother Spot
  Is roaming about
Not one rat or mouse
  Will dare to come out.

And Tibby’s a mouser,--
  She’ll soon teach her kitty
To chase them about
  Without any pity.

Just look at her now,
  With kit at her side,
And see how she watches
  With motherly pride

Her one little darling
  Who has not a brother
Or sister to share
  The love of her mother.

Our Father has taught them
  To care for each other;
He teaches our Tabby
  To be a fond mother.

He teaches our kitty
  To gambol and play,
And cares for them kindly
  By night and by day.

Each creature that lives
  And moves on the earth,
Our dear heavenly Father
  Has kept from its birth.

And he loves to see them
  So joyous and gay,
And makes them so happy
  They all love to play.

I’m glad that they have
  Such love for each other,
I’m glad that my kitty
  Does love her dear mother.




HAPPY CAT.


In eighteen hundred and eighteen,
  In pleasant time of Spring,
The pretty kitten first was seen,
  Whose history I sing.

And first her pedigree to tell,--
  She came, I understand,
Of parents as respectable
  As any in the land.

Tib she was always called, for why?
  It was her mother’s name,
And lively was the kitten’s eye,
  And active was her frame.

The soft, warm coat that covered her,
  Was goodly to the sight,
For spots of grey and yellow fur
  Shone ’mid the milky white.

She quickly learned both rat and mouse
  To combat and surprise,
For these abounded in the house
  Where first Tib oped her eyes.

One half the year she tarried here,
  And then went to reside
With Mrs. H., who lived quite near,
  (Her cat had lately died.)

There play’d she many a youthful trick,
  Which gain’d her great applause;
The rolling ball she’d follow quick,
  And seize between her paws.

The floating feather she would chase,
  And with a spring attain;
Nor buzzing fly could rest in peace
  About the window pane.

But one mischievous trick of puss
  I mention to her shame;
To see the mistress of the house
  A gentle lady came.

Tib saw the bonnet of the guest
  Most carefully laid down,
Then quickly comes to take her rest
  Within the satin crown.

Miss Tibby’s head, and tail, and ears,
  Into this quiet station
Are drawn, and not a hair appears
  To common observation.

At length the lady took her hat,--
  And how they all did stare
And laugh to see a sleeping cat
  So snugly nestled there.

Six years rolled smoothly like the first,
  From every evil free,
And many a kitten had she nurs’d
  The prettiest that could be.

A most unusual sound one night
  Was heard, and Tib thereby
Was roused at once from slumbers light,
  To hear a baby cry!

No sound like this had met her ears
  Within that ancient dome
In all the many quiet years
  That this had been her home.

Straight up the stairway did she spring,
  And there beheld the elf,--
A cunning, little, helpless thing,
  No bigger than herself.

Tib loved the baby from that day,
  And oft would rub her head
Against him in a friendly way,
  Or sit beside his bed.

When puss was old, the baby Tom
  Had grown a stately boy,
And since her feeble days had come,
  He would his time employ

In nursing the poor, feeble cat,
  With bread and milk to feed,
Or give her meat, both lean and fat,
  According to her need.

[Illustration]




TIBBY’S DEATH.


It now becomes us to relate
  The time of Tibby’s death;
In eighteen hundred and twenty-eight
  She drew her latest breath.

Old age and slow disease conspired
  This faithful cat to slay,
And in the garden she expired,
  About the last of May.

Her’s was a happy life indeed;
  So quiet and secure,
From all the persecutions freed
  That many cats endure.

Though duly fed with milk and bread,
  At morn and evening, too,
No man, or youth,--or child, in truth,
  A better mouser knew.

The closet door oft stood ajar,
  Each shelf with viands crown’d,
Yet not the worse for honest puss
  Were e’er the dishes found.

If Tib, a cat, such praise could gain
  For honest, faithful deed,
Oh, how much more should those attain
  Who think, and speak, and read.




[Illustration] SPRING


The beautiful spring-time,--the beautiful spring,
  Has come with its treasure of flowers
And dear robin red-breasts again come to sing
  In this beautiful garden of ours.

Spring, summer, and autumn, and winter, I know,
  Each in turn fill our hearts with great pleasure;
But spring, lovely spring-time, you certainly bring
  The greatest abundance of treasure.



UP! UP! AWAY!


At dawn of the day,
  When I’m wishing to sleep,
My dear little birdie
  This carol will keep,--
      Up! Up! Away!
      See! See! ’T is day!

At dawn of the day
  It is _so hard_ to wake;
But I’ll listen and hear,
  For my dear birdie’s sake;
      Up! Up! you’ll say,
      See! See! ’T is day!




THE SABBATH BREAKER.


One pleasant morn, o’er hill and plain
  The sunbeams brightly fell,
And loudly o’er the steepled fane
  Rung out the Sabbath bell.

And they who loved the day of rest,
  Went forth with one accord,--
Each in the way he deemed the best,
  To wait upon the Lord.

But not with these, in lane or street
  Was Henry seen that day;
He had not learned to turn his feet
  To wisdom’s pleasant way.

But he God’s holy day would take
  With wicked boys to rove
In search of walnut trees to shake
  Throughout the woody grove.

With basket o’er his shoulders thrown,
  His garments soiled and torn,
Young Henry sauntered from the town
  This pleasant Sabbath morn.

His widowed mother, sick and poor,
  Had taught him better things;
And thus to see him leave her door,
  Her heart with sorrow wrings.

She tried God’s holy Book to heed,
  As it before her lay;
But while she sought the words to read,
  Her thoughts were far away.

The sun his parting radiance shed,--
  Each hour increased her care,
When stranger steps with heavy tread
  Came up her narrow stair.

And in their arms her son they bore,
  Insensible and pale,
While many a stain of crimson gore
  Revealed the hapless tale.

He’d spent the day amid the wood
  In happiness and glee,
And, just at eve, triumphant stood
  Upon a lofty tree.

The bough, the very topmost bough,
  Beneath his weight gave way,
And on the rocks quite senseless now
  The wretched sufferer lay.

With mangled flesh, and laboring breath,
  And sadly fractured limb,
For many a week he lay till death
  A mercy seemed to him.

Yet, ere its bonds the spirit burst,
  Deep penitence was given;
And thus, for Jesus’ sake, we trust,
  He found a home in heaven.




MY SON, GIVE ME THINE HEART.


Time is flying, dearest children,
  Come and give your hearts away;
Come to Jesus! Come to Jesus!
  He will teach you how to pray.

Time is flying--do not linger,
  Listen to his voice to-day;
Come to Jesus! Come to Jesus!
  He will teach you how to pray.

Time is flying--quickly flying,
  Precious one do not delay,
Come to Jesus! Come to Jesus!
  He delights to hear you pray.

Time is flying _now_, dear children,
  Come and give your hearts away;
Come to Jesus! Come to Jesus!
  He will teach you how to pray.




[Illustration] VISIT TO THE COUNTRY.


A little boy one morning rose,
  And from his chamber high,
Saw with delight the sun was bright
  And beautiful the sky.

For with his mother and his aunt,
  That day full well he knew
Was planned for him a pleasant jaunt
  Across the waters blue.

And soon from head to foot complete
  The little boy was dressed;
But yet no breakfast could he eat,
  So full of joy his breast.

Ere ten o’clock their trunks were packed,
  And all were in array,
Nor yet a piece of cake they lacked
  To eat upon the way.

Oh, had you seen the pretty boat
  With mast and sail and oar,
In which the happy party float
  The peaceful billows o’er.

By pebbly shore and island green,
  Where thick the bushes grew,
Each little girl and boy, I ween,
  Had longed to be there too.

But soon they reached the island where
  Their cousin kind had come
With greeting fair to meet them there,
  And take them to his home.

His good brown horse drew wagon bright,
  In which was room enough,
For better far than chaises light
  Are these when roads are rough.

The good horse trotted with his load,--
  The whip he did not need,
And o’er the high and rugged road
  Our travellers bore with speed.

I cannot tell each charming sight
  That on the dear boy’s view
Arose to fill him with delight,
  For all to him was new.

Here swam a flock of gabbling geese
  In waters bright and still,
Nor did the sheep the gambols cease
  About the verdant hill.

The cattle from their grassy meal
  Raised up a heavy eye,
And many a pig sent forth its squeal
  As rolled the wagon by.

And now the house appear’d in view
  That they should tarry in,--
Then barking out the house-dog flew
  And out came all their kin.

They kindly welcome gave each guest,
  And full refreshment brought;
Then evening came, and needful rest
  Each weary traveller sought.




LITTLE LYDIA AND THE RAZOR.


“This box little Lydia may put in its place,”
  Said her uncle, “for I am quite lame;
My razor is nicely shut up in its case,
  Be careful, my dear, of the same.”

But Lydia had seen this razor so bright
  In the hands of her uncle display’d,
And when she was once fairly out of his sight,
She open’d the box, and saw with delight
  The beautiful handle and blade.

She met her young sister; “Dear Abby,” she said,
  “This beautiful thing only see;
Sit down here directly, and hold up your head,
  I’ll shave you as nice as can be.”

Her sister consented, and now they begin
  Their dangerous play with delight;
But, lo! the first stroke brings blood from her chin,
  And both scream aloud with affright.

At the sound of these voices their mother appear’d
  And well might such figures amaze her;
For one little girl was with blood all besmeared,
  The other was holding a razor.

Now Abby was washed, and a plaster they bring
  For the cut on her face most befitting;
And Lydia was told what a terrible thing,
  She’d been on the point of committing.

They were warned for the future such playthings to shun,
  And I trust they remember their warning;
For I’ve heard of no mischief these children have done,
  Since that most unfortunate morning.




NATURE SPEAKS OF GOD.


How beautiful this world, O Lord!
  On every side thy hand I see;
The earth is with thy bounties stored,
  All nature seems to speak of thee!
Oh, teach a little child to know
And love that God who made them so!

Each fowl that swiftly wings the air,
  And warbling birds on every tree,
All claim our heavenly Father’s care,
  And they, too, seem to speak of thee.
Oh, teach a little child to know
And love that God who made them so!

The air, the ocean, and the land
  Are full of life as they can be,
And all from thy kind, bounteous hand
  Receive supplies of food from thee.
Oh, teach a little child to know
That glorious God who loves them so!

And thou, my Father, dost provide
  A happy home and friends for me;
My daily wants are all supplied,
  And all proceeds alone from thee.
Oh teach a little child to know
That glorious God who loves him so!

[Illustration]




[Illustration] BABY HAS GOT A TOOTH.


“Papa, I have glorious news to tell!”
  Said a bright-eyed little boy,
As his father alighted from the stage,
  And greeted his son with joy.

They had rattled away in the stage all day,
  Those passengers crowded together,
And some had to fret because it was wet,
  And all were quite tired of the weather.

But now shouts of laughter arose from the stage,
  All lost their ill-humor in truth,
As they heard that dear boy tell the glorious news,
  “Our baby has just got a tooth!”




[Illustration]


Ocean steamers
  Come and go
Very frequently,
  You know.

Once it took
  A month, or more,
To cross the sea
  From shore to shore.

[Illustration: BIBLE HOUSE (Astor Place).]




BIBLE STORIES AND HYMNS.




SOLOMON’S CHOICE.


“Be strong, and shew thyself a man!”
  Said David to his youthful son.
“I die! keep thou the charge from God,
  And in his ways and precepts run!”

So David slept--and Solomon
  Desired to do just what was right,
And God spoke to him in a dream,
  “What shall I give thee? Ask to-night.”

“Oh, God,” he said, “Thou hast been kind
  To place me on king David’s throne;
Yet, I am but a little child,
  I am not fit to go alone.

“An understanding heart I want,
  To guard thine Israel, Lord, from sin--
This mighty people! Teach me, Lord,
  How to go out--how to come in.”

“Thy choice is good!” the Lord replied,
  “An understanding heart I give;
No monarch yet has ever reigned
  So well. No king so wise shall live.”

“’T is well that thou hast sought this thing,
  And hast not asked long life and health,
Riches or honors,--yet I give
  To thee and thine abundant wealth!”

“Ask what thou wilt” in prayer, dear child;
  God promises to give it thee,
And shouldst thou heavenly wisdom seek,
  All other things shall added be.




SOLOMON’S JUDGMENT.

    “And all Israel heard of the judgment, and they feared King
    Solomon, for they saw that the wisdom of God was in him."--KINGS
    iii: 28.


No King e’er reigned like Solomon,
  So good was he and wise;
When distant nations heard his fame,
  It filled them with surprise.

And all the people feared to do,
  Unjust and wicked things;
They feared the secret he would learn
  From God the King of kings.

For they all knew at Gibeon,
  God made the heart rejoice,
When in the silence of the night,
  He made that happy choice.[8]

And asked an understanding heart,--
  The wisdom he should need
To guide the people, and that God
  Would be his friend indeed.

They knew that God approv’d his choice,
  And gave him such a name,
For wisdom and integrity,
  That all would hear his fame.

One day a mother came to him,
  To claim an only son,
An infant only nine days old,
  And thus in tears begun:--

“My lord, O king, behold and see,
  This woman by my side!
She had a son the age of mine,
  But in the night he died.

“No one was with us in the house,
  So she was not afraid
To place her dead child, while I slept,
  Where my dear boy was laid.

“And when I woke, at early dawn,
  To nurse my little son,
I thought my darling dead, but soon
  I saw what she had done.”

“It is not so,” the woman cried,
  “The dead boy let her bring,
That is her child, the living one
  Belongs to me, O king!”

“Bring in a sword!” said Solomon,
  “Now cut the child in two!
We’ll give the other woman half,
  One half belongs to you.”

Joyful the wicked woman spoke,
  “But half the babe is thine;
O righteous king divide the boy,
  And let one half be mine.”

Her bowels yearning for her son,
  The mother quick replied,
“No, take the living child for thine,
  Give me the one that died.

“O king, in pity, spare my boy,
  And let him not be slain!
Thy handmaid then will hasten home,
  Nor trouble thee again.”

“In nowise slay or hurt the babe,”
  King Solomon replied,
“The _mother’s heart_ shall plead for her,
  Give her the living child!”




SOLOMON’S WISDOM.

    And Solomon’s wisdom excelled the wisdom of all the children of the
    east country, and all the wisdom of Egypt."--KINGS iv.


In Solomon’s most peaceful reign
  What happiness was felt!
Under his vine and fig tree, then,
  Each man in safety dwelt.

Israel and Judah lived secure,
  In Canaan’s fruitful land,
And God enlarged the Monarch’s heart,
  And made him understand

All wisdom Eastern sages learn’d,
  And those of Egypt, too;
Of trees of Lebanon he wrote,--
  All living plants he knew.

Of beasts,--of fowl,--of creeping things,
  And fish the king could write,
And in his Songs and Proverbs still
  All nations take delight.

Silver, and gold, and precious stones,
  Were sent him day by day,
And camels laden with rich goods,
  From regions far away.

So prosperous a reign as this,
  God’s people ne’er had known,
And mighty kings oft came to see
  The monarch on his throne.

Thus God had said,[9] “Since thou dost choose
  To walk in wisdom’s ways,
Thou shalt be rich, and wise, and great,
  Before me _all_ thy days.




SOLOMON AND THE QUEEN OF SHEBA.

    “And when the Queen of Sheba heard of the fame of Solomon she came
    to prove him with hard questions. And she gave the king of gold and
    of spices a very great store, and precious stones."--KINGS x.


Uttermost parts of the earth
  Had heard the wondrous fame
Of Solomon’s most mighty acts,--
  The greatness of his name.

Thence came the Queen of Sheba down
  With camels bearing gold,
And precious stones, and spices sweet,--
  Their worth has ne’er been told.

Arabian spices--such a store
  Was never seen again
Within the Holy Land as then
  The queen brought in her train.

Communing with King Solomon
  Of what was in her heart,
With questions hard she led the king
  His wisdom to impart.

Then said the queen, “In mine own land
  Of thy great name I heard,
The wisdom and prosperity
  God had on thee conferred.

“The fame of thy most mighty acts
  So filled me with surprise
That I resolved to venture down
  And see with mine own eyes,

“And bring a present from the East,--
  Spices, and gems, and gold;
O king! I heard a true report,
  Yet half has ne’er been told.

“Thrice happy are thy men, great king,
  And these thy servants, too,
Who wait before thee all the day,
  And see what thou dost do.

“And blessed be the Lord thy God,
  Who takes delight in thee;
Because the Lord loved Israel well,
  Thy wisdom now they see.

“Then of his royal bounty he
  Gave what the queen liked best,
And thus King Solomon dismissed
  His pleased and grateful guest.




KING OF TYRE.

    “Hiram, King of Tyre, was ever a lover of David."--KINGS v.


King Solomon his servant sent
  To Hiram, King of Tyre,
To say, “thus saith King David’s son
  Thy servant doth desire

To build a temple for the Lord,
  And he would buy of thee,
Cedars of Lebanon, and firs,
  To be sent down by sea.”

And Hiram heard these words, and said,
  “My servant shall convey
All thou dost need from Lebanon;
  Blessed be the Lord this day!

“David, thy father, was my friend,
  I love thy people, too;
And I rejoice that God doth give
  Wisdom and grace to you.

“Now, therefore, let us make a league
  Of friendship and of peace;
All thou shalt need, I will supply,
  Until the work shall cease.”

Thousands of men were thus employed,
  Sidonians, Tyrians, Jews,
To cut the timber and the stones,
  For Solomon to use.

No sound of hammer, axe, or tool,
  Around God’s house was heard,--
All was prepared in Lebanon,
  According to his word.

The temple was magnificent,
  Most wondrous to behold!
The ark and house were overlaid
  With pure and beaten gold.

And God was pleased, that Solomon
  Urged on the work with speed,
He promised still to dwell with him,
  And be his friend indeed.




CHRIST’S LOVE.

    “Behold thy Son! Then saith he to the disciple, Behold thy mother!
    And from that hour that disciple took her to his own home."--JOHN
    xix.


Jesus, my Lord, when here on earth,
  Was always an obedient child,
Yielding his mother filial love,
  And ever humble, meek, and mild.

Loving his mother; Jesus sought
  A strict obedience to her will,
And when upon the cross he hung,
  He loved his tender mother still;

And left her to the watchful care
  Of loving John, his dearest friend,
That in that dear disciple’s home,
  She her remaining days might spend.

My mother, I would yield to thee,
  The warm affection of my heart,
Nor ever false or wayward prove,
  Or from thy precepts e’er depart.

Help me to serve my mother’s God,
  And bear his image on my heart!
Then, when these scenes of earth are o’er,
  We’ll meet in heaven no more to part.




ON FAITH.


How sweet it is my child,
  To live by simple faith,
Just to believe that God will do
  Exactly what he saith.

Does faith mean to believe
  That God will surely do
Exactly what he says, Mamma,
  Just as I know that you

Will give me what I ask,
  Because you love me well,
And listen patiently, to hear
  Whatever I may tell?

Yes; you may trust in God,
  Just as you trust in me;
Believe, dear child, he loves you well,
  And will your father be.

For, when you sought his love,
  Your Father up in heaven,
Looked kindly down, for Jesus’ sake,
  And has your sins forgiven.

And now, to pray in faith,
  Is simply to believe
That what you ask in Jesus’ name,
  You surely shall receive.

Go with your simple wants,
  And tell him all you need;
Go put your trust in Christ alone,
  Such faith is sweet indeed.




BE LIKE JESUS.

    “Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus.”


To be like Jesus! O how sweet;
  Living on earth as Jesus did--
Never to speak one angry word,
  But always do as one is bid.

To be like Jesus! he, dear child,
  With God and man in favor grew,
Never was known to tell a lie,
  But always spoke just what was true.

To be like Jesus! When, O Lord,
  Thou givest a holy heart to me;
Never shall I delight to sin,
  But always try to be like thee.

To be like Jesus! pure in thought,
  And word, and deed; O help me, Lord,
Never thy Spirit more to grieve,
  But always love thy holy Word.

To be like Jesus! O, how sweet!
  When I go home to heaven above
Never shall I forget thee more,
  But always dwell with thee in love.




SABBATH HYMN.


Little traveller, Zionward
  Turn thy willing steps to-day,
Haste thee to the house of God,
  Lift thy youthful heart and pray.

May this Sabbath be the best--
  Happiest day of all the seven,
Day of sweet and sacred rest,
  Emblem of the rest of heaven.

Little pilgrim, keep thy feet
  From the devious ways of sin;
Go, where Christians love to meet,
  Go, where Jesus oft hath been.

Seek his presence and his love,
  On this holy Sabbath day,
Lift thy heart, and voice above,
  In his temple praise and pray!

Little lamb, mayest thou be seen
  Far from dangerous paths to roam,
In thy shepherd’s pastures green--
  In his bosom find a home.

Never wander from his side;
  Trust thy tender shepherd’s love;
He thy wayward steps will guide
  Safely to his fold above.




FEED MY LAMBS.

    “He shall feed his flock like a shepherd--he shall gather the lambs
    with his arm, and carry them in his bosom."--ISAIAH xl: 11.


“Forbid them not,” the Savior says,
  “But suffer them to come,
For children in my arms of love,
  There always has been room.”

Those who would win the Savior’s love,
  And be his friend indeed,
Must not neglect the little ones--
  These dear lambs they must feed,

And lead them to the quiet streams
  Where they may sweetly rest,
Till the Good Shepherd calls them home
  And folds them to his breast.




CONTENTS.


Almira and Minnie,                                                   131


Baby has got a tooth,                                                184

Baby’s first steps,                                                   28

Be like Jesus,                                                       198

Bible sold by weight,                                                 36

Blackberry girl,                                                     145

Breakfast fur the robins,                                            149


Charlie and his youthful teacher,                                    109

Christ’s love,                                                       196

Close of the day,                                                     76

Conversation upon ice,                                                30

Cooking in old times,                                                 73

Create in me a clean heart, O God,                                    96

Cross girl,                                                           39

Cross girl,                                                           65


Dolly’s name,                                                         71


Eddie in the country,                                                 34

Ella and the roses,                                                   12

Envy,                                                                118


Faithful Fido,                                                        83

Feed my lambs,                                                       200


God the Creator,                                                     162

Grandmamma’s story,                                                  141

Granite hills in winter,                                              56


Happy cat,                                                           168

Happy Dolly,                                                          33

Holiday gift,                                                        124


Ida May,                                                              13


Jane’s question,                                                      44

John Mason and his sled,                                              47


King of Tyre,                                                        194

Little Eddie,                                                         80

Little Ellen’s request,                                              158

Little Lydia and the razor,                                          181

Little Mary and her wicked father,                                    84

Lost child,                                                          160


Milking the Cows,                                                    159

Minnie’s faithfulness,                                                18

Morning song and morning prayer,                                      25

Mother Goose,                                                          7

My son give me thine heart,                                          177


Nature speaks of God,                                                182

Nursery children needing homes,                                      129


Ocean steamers,                                                      185

Oh spare the birds,                                                   38

On faith,                                                            197


Papa’s request,                                                       43

Playtime,                                                             27

Precious Bible,                                                      103

Pulsifer children,                                                    22


Remember the poor,                                                   123

Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy,                            107

Ride to school in winter,                                             48


Sabbath hymn,                                                        199

Sallie M----,                                                         87

Shun the swearer,                                                     59

Skating,                                                             153

Sleep, Dolly,                                                         10

Sleep, little birdie,                                                156

Solomon and the Queen of Sheba,                                      192

Solomon’s choice,                                                    187

Solomon’s judgment,                                                  188

Solomon’s wisdom,                                                    191

Spring,                                                              173

Strawberry girl,                                                     115

Succotash,                                                            74

Supper for the robins,                                               147

The falls,                                                            60

The first theft,                                                      68

The Helen Maria,                                                      97

The Indian and the basket,                                           138

The Indian and the planter,                                          136

The infant Savior,                                                    99

The kind brother,                                                     53

The Lake, Isles and White Mountains,                                  58

The little boy’s request,                                             99

The morning walk,                                                    114

The peacock,                                                          17

The proud girl,                                                       89

The sabbath breaker,                                                 175

The sacrifice,                                                       104

The sailor and the monkeys,                                          111

The stolen pen-knife,                                                 63

The tell-tale,                                                        60

The two cousins,                                                     101

The widow of Zarephath,                                              150

The wounded foot,                                                    156

The youthful king,                                                    97

Tibby and her kitten,                                                165

Tibby’s death                                                        172

To my infant nephew,                                                 154

Trenton Falls,                                                        41


Up! up! away!                                                        174


Visit to the country,                                                178


Wake, Dolly,                                                          11

Willie’s fears. Part I,                                               93

Willie’s fears. Part II,                                              94

Wonderful instinct of the ant,                                        78


FOOTNOTES:

[1] Lovest thou me? Feed my lambs.--JOHN xxi.

[2] Vol. iv. “Casket Library.” Published by H. V. Degen, 22 Cornhill.

[3] Vol. I. “Casket Library.” Published by H. V. Degen, 22 Cornhill.

[4] John iii: 14, 15.

[5] “The seed of Abraham my friend."--ISAIAH, xli: 8.

[6] Rev. xxii: 15.

[7] This circumstance actually occurred as related, soon after the
settlement of Rhode Island, at a farm house, still in good preservation.

[8] Kings, 2d chapter.

[9] Kings iii: 12.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 66038 ***