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| author | pgww <pgww@lists.pglaf.org> | 2026-01-28 10:38:06 -0800 |
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| committer | pgww <pgww@lists.pglaf.org> | 2026-01-28 10:38:06 -0800 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes index 6833f05..d7b82bc 100644 --- a/.gitattributes +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -1,3 +1,4 @@ -* text=auto -*.txt text -*.md text +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt index 6c72794..b5dba15 100644 --- a/LICENSE.txt +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -7,5 +7,5 @@ the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize -this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +this book outside of the United States should confirm copyright status under the laws that apply to them. @@ -1,2 +1,2 @@ -Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for eBook #77767 -(https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/77767) +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +book #77767 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/77767) diff --git a/christmas-child.txt b/christmas-child.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e0a8d91..0000000 --- a/christmas-child.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3732 +0,0 @@ -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77767 *** - - - - - THE CHRISTMAS CHILD - AND OTHER VERSE FOR CHILDREN - -[Illustration: CHRISTMAS SECRETS (_page 27_)] - - - - - THE CHRISTMAS CHILD - - AND OTHER - - VERSE FOR CHILDREN - - - BY - - NORA ARCHIBALD SMITH - - AUTHOR OF “THE HOME-MADE KINDERGARTEN,” “THREE LITTLE MARYS,” - “UNDER THE CACTUS FLAG,” ETC. - - _With Illustrations_ - - [Illustration] - - BOSTON AND NEW YORK - HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY - The Riverside Press Cambridge - 1920 - - - - -COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY NORA ARCHIBALD SMITH - -ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - - - - -TO MY MOTHER - -(_A Christmas Wish_) - - - This is the day of the Mother and Child, - Of Blessed Babe and of Mary mild; - Centuries old yet eternally young, - Chanted in praises of every tongue,-- - Lily divine of Motherhood, - Child who has taught us Brotherhood! - - This is the season of Mother and Child,-- - Then let me wish for thee, mother mild, - Who of thy love didst bring me here, - Gave me this life that I hold so dear, - All that thy heart can treasure, - Joy beyond earthly measure! - - - - - “_And I, for one, would much rather, - Could I merit so sweet a thing, - Be the poet of little children - Than the laureate of a king._” - LUCY LARCOM - - - - -Acknowledgments are made to the following periodicals in which these -little verses for children first appeared: _The Ladies’ Home Journal_, -_The Outlook_, _The Interior_, _Little Folks_, _The Kindergarten and -First Grade_, _The Housewife_, _The Churchman_, _American Primary -Teacher_, _The Continent_, _John Martin’s Book_, _Mother’s Magazine_, -_Woman’s Home Companion_, _Sunday School Times_, _Youth’s Companion_, -_Woman’s World_, _Table Talk_, _Journal of Education_, _St. Nicholas_, -_Young People’s Weekly_, _The Primary School_, _The Ladies’ World_. - -Also to Doubleday, Page and Company and Houghton Mifflin Company for -permission to use verses which have appeared in their publications. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - TO MY MOTHER (A CHRISTMAS WISH) v - - THE CHRISTMAS CHILD 1 - - THE CHRISTMAS TRAVELERS 2 - - SANTA CLAUS IS COMING! 4 - - NEIGHBORS OF THE CHRIST-NIGHT 6 - - THE BENEVOLENT GNOME 8 - - THE CHRIST-CANDLE 11 - - THE GOOD FIR-TREE 13 - - A CHILD’S CHRISTMAS CAROL 15 - - THE GOOD SHIP SANTA CLAUS 16 - - GRACE FOR CHRISTMAS EVE 19 - - CHRISTMAS HELPERS 20 - - A CHRISTMAS ACROSTIC 23 - - THE MAN IN THE MOON 24 - - TO A CHILD ON CHRISTMAS 26 - - CHRISTMAS SECRETS 27 - - HOW THE CHRIST-FLOWER BLOOMED 29 - - A DEAR LITTLE BOY 32 - - “L’OISEAU DE DIEU” 35 - - CHRISTMAS IN NORWAY 37 - - THE HAUGHTY ASPEN 40 - - REMEMBER! 42 - - A NEW YEAR’S SONG 44 - - THE BOASTFUL SNOWFLAKE 46 - - THE GOOSE FAIR AT WARSAW 47 - - THE FAIRY RING 49 - - I WONDER! 52 - - EVERYBODY’S BABY 54 - - WHICH IS THE ROYAL BABY? 56 - - FLOWER SONG 58 - - SWEET SLEEP 59 - - THE MAKING OF THE FLAG 60 - - THE ANSWER OF THE FLAG 63 - - PROTECT THE FLAG 66 - - A COLLAR OF HONOR 67 - - THE CHILDREN’S SHIP 69 - - SOLDIER OR SLACKER 71 - - LEARNING TO KNIT 72 - - THE TIMID OYSTER 74 - - DINNER-TIME 76 - - THE WANDERING EELS 78 - - EASTER BLOSSOMS 81 - - THE LIFE-PRESERVERS 82 - - TALKING THROUGH THE HAT 84 - - THE DAY OF THE DOG 88 - - MEADOW TALK 91 - - KNOCKING ON WOOD 94 - - THE ROBIN AND THE ANGLEWORM 96 - - THE JOLLY DUGONG 98 - - THE DANDIFIED MANATEE 101 - - YOUNG SUNDAY HAT 103 - - THE LOLLIPOP BUSH 106 - - DIFFERENCE IN TASTES 108 - - THE WORD OF A GENTLEMAN 109 - - NO MAN’S LAND 112 - - KAMATU SAN AND ’LIZABETH ANN 114 - - THE LITTLE ’PRENTICE LAD 116 - - THE SUNFLOWER’S STORY 120 - - A BANANA STORY 122 - - SONG OF THE CARNAHUBA PALM 124 - - LITTLE DORRIT’S PLAYGROUND 127 - - THE THREAD-AND-NEEDLE TREE 129 - - PEDDLING POETRY 132 - - THE LITTLE ARTIST 135 - - THE FEAST OF THE DOLL 138 - - THE FEAST OF ARMS 139 - - THE FEAST OF LAUGHTER 141 - - THE DOLL’S CALENDAR 144 - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS - - - CHRISTMAS SECRETS _Frontispiece_ - - THE PRESENTS HE BOUGHT WERE A WONDERFUL SIGHT 8 - - “GO STAND THOU IN THE FROZEN MOON!” 24 - - THE GEESE ARE TROOPING TO WARSAW 48 - - HE IS GRAVELY SALUTED BY EACH BOLD MARINE 68 - - TALKING THROUGH THE HAT 84 - - “MY PITCHER! WILL YOU MEND IT, SIR?” 110 - - THE FEAST OF THE DOLL 138 - - -The first two illustrations are redrawn from _John Martin’s Book, the -Child’s Magazine_, the third from _Little Folks_, and the others from -_St. Nicholas_, all with the kind permission of the editors. - - - - -THE CHRISTMAS CHILD - - - The Christmas child is a lovely child, - Though he be not fair of face, - For his heart is full of generous thoughts - And his eyes are full of grace. - - The Christmas child is a helpful child, - Howsoever poor he live; - For his ears are lent to his brother’s need, - And his hands outstretched to give. - - - - -THE CHRISTMAS TRAVELERS[1] - -(A CHRISTMAS PROCESSIONAL) - - -I - - To seek the Babe of Bethlehem, - Three Kings of Orient came; - Wise Baltasar and Melchior, - With Gaspar, great in fame. - Across the lonely desert - They took their trackless way, - To find their King and worship Him - That wondrous Christmas Day. - A heav’nly guide their Lord did send, - A radiant jewel-star, - Serene and bright it journey’d on, - And sent its rays afar. - Around the shepherds as they lay, - It shed its glorious light; - The angels came in multitude, - And fill’d the sky of night. - “Good-will,” they sang, “to ev’ry man - And glory in the height.” - - -II - - To seek the Babe of Bethlehem, - We come this Christmas Day, - A pilgrim band, our Promis’d Land, - The Manger where He lay. - No splendid robes enfold us, - No regal gifts we bring, - With simple faith we celebrate - The birthday of our King. - Oh, star divine, still shine on us, - Still let thy radiance burn, - Till into David’s city - Our lowly footsteps turn! - There, like the shepherds, wondering, - We’ll worship, kneeling still; - There, like the angel multitude, - Our song the heavens fill, - And tell the birth of peace on earth, - To men of gentle will. - - -FOOTNOTE - -[1] Music from Mendelssohn, Opus 72, No. 1. - - - - -SANTA CLAUS IS COMING! - - - Up among the chimneys high, - Hark the merry sound! - The reindeer’s tramp, the ring of bells, - All the city round. - Santa Claus is coming with his pack of toys, - Santa Claus is coming to his girls and boys. - Santa Claus is coming; he’ll be welcome here, - For he only comes to see us once a year! - - Clad in fur from head to foot, - Warm and soft he goes, - With silver hair and dimpled chin, - Cheek that’s like a rose. - Santa Claus is coming with his pack of toys, - Santa Claus is coming to his girls and boys. - Santa Claus is coming; he’ll be welcome here, - For he only comes to see us once a year! - - Stop the sleigh, the reindeer halt! - We are waiting here, - And every stocking’s hanging up, - Come down, Santa dear! - Santa Claus is coming with his pack of toys, - Santa Claus is coming to his girls and boys. - Santa Claus is coming; he’ll be welcome here, - For he only comes to see us once a year! - - - - -NEIGHBORS OF THE CHRIST-NIGHT - - _Remember, little dearest one, - The beasts on Christmas Day, - And give to each his bite and sup, - To each his meed of hay, - For so it was on the Christ-night._ - - - Deep in the shelter of the cave, - The ass with drooping head - Stood weary in the shadow, where - His master’s hand had led. - - About the manger oxen lay, - Bending a wide-eyed gaze - Upon the little new-born Babe, - Half worship, half amaze. - - High in the roof the doves were set, - And cooed there, soft and mild, - Yet not so sweet as in the hay, - The Mother to her Child. - - The gentle cows breathed fragrant breath - To keep Babe Jesus warm, - While loud and clear, o’er hill and dale, - The cocks crowed, “Christ is born!” - - Out in the fields, beneath the stars, - The young lambs sleeping lay, - And dreamed that in the manger slept - Another, white as they. - - These were Thy neighbors, Christmas Child - To Thee their love was given, - For in Thy baby face there shone - The wonder-light of Heaven. - - - - -THE BENEVOLENT GNOME - - - An elderly gnome of benevolent turn - And master of treasures untold, - Once lived in a forest and guarded his mines - And stored up his jewels and gold. - Alone lived the gnome and no kindred had he, - No gnomelets to hand down his name; - No creature to cheer him, not even a cat, - No housemates to praise him or blame. - And Christmas was coming! - With none could he share, - No tree could he help to adorn, - No stocking replenish, no storeroom refill! - Was ever a gnome more forlorn? - - But sudden one morning he happened to think, - Though kin in the wood he had none, - Yet neighbors in feathers and neighbors in fur - Were plenty as motes in the sun. - “The fox,” thought the gnome, - “What a joy it would be - To give him a plan of each farm, - A guide to each hen-roost adjoining his den - And thus to protect him from harm. - The owl,” he thought, “is an excellent bird - Though somewhat addicted to gloom. - I’ll buy him a grammar and teach him to say - No longer ‘To who!’ but ‘To whom!’ - - “The squirrel is restless. Some potion or balm - Would quiet his nerves for a space; - A bottle of tonic would pleasure the fish - And set their cold blood in a race. - A cheese for the wood-mice I’ll quickly procure; - A string of gay beads for the crow; - Some greens for the rabbit, some furs for the snake, - And skis for the buck and the doe.” - With bark for his notebook, a thorn for his pen, - His list was soon plainly writ down, - And, clinking his money in holiday mood, - Our hero set out for the town. - The presents he bought were a wonderful sight, - They hung from each tree in the wood; - No beast was forgotten, no matter how small, - No bird, were he evil or good. - The elderly gnome of benevolent turn - No longer was lonely or sad; - In sharing with others he’d found his content, - In gladdening, he was made glad. - -[Illustration: THE PRESENTS HE BOUGHT WERE A WONDERFUL SIGHT] - - - - -THE CHRIST-CANDLE - -A SONG FOR CHRISTMAS EVE - - -I - - ’Tis Holy Night in the hamlet olden, - Darkness lowers her curtain down; - With fingers of sleep the eyes are holden, - Naught is awake in the dreaming town. - Shineth one light in a cottage window, - Set for the Christ-child’s tender feet, - Lest that they stumble, lest that they falter, - Passing to-night thro’ the silent street. - - Shine, sweet light, from thy humble dwelling, - Brightly beam on the toilsome way; - Long must he journey--the darling Christ-child-- - Far and far has he still to stray. - - -II - - The world is asleep and the world is weary, - Scarce it remembers the Holy Night; - Error and wretchedness, sinful, dreary, - Cover and darken the spirit-sight. - Stay not to come to us, blesséd Christ-child, - Tho’ we be slumbering, tho’ we forget, - Tho’ they be scanty, the lights that await thee, - Heavenly Messenger, stay not yet! - - Here is my light in my true heart’s window, - Angel of Christmastide, come to me; - If thou wilt enter so lowly a chamber, - Here shall thy home and thy shelter be. - - - - -THE GOOD FIR-TREE - - - There were two little fir-trees that happened to grow - In the shade of the forest wide, - And one was a good tree and one was as bad - As you’d find in a day-long ride. - He never would listen, he never would mind - The words of the motherly tree; - And it needn’t surprise you to learn he was soon - As crooked as crooked could be. - - The good little fir-tree delighted to hear - The counsels of wisdom that fell - From the myriad lips of the motherly tree, - And he pondered them all right well. - “Strike deep with your rootlets,” the mother advised; - “Hold firmly your head in the air; - There are wonderful things that may happen to come - To a fir-tree that’s perfect and fair.” - - The bad little sapling was sulky and rude; - He said a fine tree never grew - In such a deep shade as that tangled-up wood; - He was bound to be crooked, he knew. - His needles they withered; he blighted at heart; - And his fate at the end it was dire; - For they pulled him up bodily, rootlet and crown. - And they used him to kindle the fire! - - But oh, the good fir-tree, he never had hoped - And scarce could believe such a thing-- - The children discovered his place in the wood - And round him they danced in a ring. - They carried him homeward, and--what do you think?-- - ’Twas the happiest lot that could be,-- - And fairest of fortunes that ever befell-- - Why, they made him a Christmas Tree! - - - - -A CHILD’S CHRISTMAS CAROL - - - What is the fairest Christmas gift - A little child can bring? - A heart, as pure and white as plume - That drops from angel’s wing. - Oh, glad hearts sing, - And joy bells ring, - In the bright December weather. - - What is the sweetest Christmas song - A little child can sing? - A song of love, of heavenly love, - That flows for everything. - Oh, glad hearts sing, - And joy bells ring, - In the bright December weather. - - What is the dearest Christmas tune - The belfry chimes can ring? - A birthday carol they can sound, - The birthday of the King. - Oh, glad hearts sing, - And joy bells ring, - In the bright December weather. - - - - -THE GOOD SHIP SANTA CLAUS - - - Let’s take a shiny airship and let’s name it Santa Claus, - And go a-whisking off across the blue, - And let’s do a lot of errands for the very best of saints, - Who hasn’t time for all he wants to do. - There are polar bears complaining up among the northern snows - That they haven’t any honey for their cubs; - And mother mermaids moaning on the bottom of the sea - ’Cause they have to do their washing without tubs. - There are mud-larks by the dozen who, I’m credibly informed, - Have never had a chance to lark in mud, - And sea cows ruminating where the water grasses grow, - Who have never had a new taste for their cud. - There are monkeys in menageries who tell me that it’s years - Since they had a single cocoanut to throw, - And that as for tails prehensile, they have nothing to prehense, - So the object’s a deception and a show. - There are jackdaws kept in cages with no single thing to steal, - And you know a daw would rather steal than eat; - There are kangaroos with pouches just as empty as a gourd - Who’d be pleased to fill them up with something sweet; - And centipedes who should, by rights, have long ago been shod, - Who’ve never even seen a boot or shoe, - And owls who keep protesting that they wouldn’t be so dull - If they only had a lesson-book or two. - And we shan’t forget the parrots, who with beaks designed to hook, - Never had an hour’s fishing in their days, - Nor the bats, who, if they’d spectacles that really fitted well, - Would travel in more reputable ways. - What ho! What ho! the Santa Claus! Swoop down from out the sky! - We’re ready with our bundles. Heave ahoy! - Stand fast and pack her solid to the very outer rim, - And tuck in every chink a Christmas toy. - As we skim across the water we will drop the presents in - For those who dare not venture on the land. - And when we reach the forest, we will hang them on the trees - And mark them so the least can understand. - What ho! What ho! the Santa Claus! The time is growing short-- - Pull all the anchors up and let her go! - No beast must be forgotten from the East unto the West, - Nor from land of southern sun to land of snow. - - - - -GRACE FOR CHRISTMAS EVE[2] - - - The Baby born in Bethlehem - A sorry shelter had, - While we, who gather here to-night - Are warm and softly clad. - - The Baby born in Bethlehem - Was fed on humble fare, - And yet our board is richly spread - With dainty food and rare. - - Our beds are downy-smooth and white, - He slumbered in the hay; - ’Tis good that we remember this, - Each blesséd Christmas Day. - - And good that we remember, too, - To pay our thanks and praise - To Heavenly Love that brought us here - And gave this Day of Days. - - -FOOTNOTE - -[2] From dramatic version of _The Birds’ Christmas Carol_, by Kate -Douglas Wiggin. - - - - -CHRISTMAS HELPERS - - - I went to the forest and asked of the trees, - As bowing and swaying, they bent to the breeze, - “Now, tell me, my brothers, now, tell, if you please, - Just what can you do for Christmas?” - And straightway they answered, the dark, lofty trees - As spicy and fragrant, they waved in the breeze, - “We’re trying our best to grow tall, if you please, - We’re trying to grow for Christmas!” - - I passed by the draper’s and saw in a box, - Such masses of stockings, both plain and with clocks; - And eager I asked them, “My sweet little socks, - Now what will you do for Christmas?” - And straightway they answered from out of their box, - Those stout-footed stockings, both plain and with clocks,-- - “We’ll try to fulfill the first duty of socks,-- - We’ll try to keep whole for Christmas!” - - I entered the toy shop and said to the toys-- - Such wonderful treasures for girls and for boys! - “You dear, pretty playthings, you holiday joys, - Pray, what will you do for Christmas?” - And straightway they answered, those shining new toys, - Those marvelous presents for girls and for boys, - “To play with a child is the chief of our joys; - We’ll visit them all on Christmas.” - - To cloudland I wandered and asked of the snow, - As dancing and whirling, it sped to and fro, - “Now, tell me, fair snowflakes,--I long so to know, - Just what are your plans for Christmas!” - And straightway they answered, the soft flakes of snow, - As circling and floating, they flew to and fro, - “We think we should do the best thing, do you know, - If we fell thick and white for Christmas.” - - I climbed to the belfry and questioned the bell, - All murm’ring with sound, like the heart of a shell, - “Now, tell me, my silver-tongue, truthfully tell, - What song will you sing on Christmas?” - And straightway the resonant voice of the bell - All vibrant with sound like a tropical shell, - Replied, “The glad message I’ll joyfully tell, - I’ll ring the Good News on Christmas!” - - I asked of the tapers, the stars and each light - That blooms in the heavenly garden of night:-- - “Now, tell me, ye shining ones, lovely and bright, - What best can you do for Christmas?” - And straightway they answered, star, taper and light, - All blooming and fair in the garden of night;-- - “O’er land and o’er ocean, we’ll beam clear and bright, - We’ll shine out our best for Christmas!” - - - - -A CHRISTMAS ACROSTIC - - - C arollers singing at morning gray; - H olly and ivy in brave array; - R inging of bells in the tow’r aloft, - I ncense below and a chanting soft,-- - S o should it be on Christmas! - T elling the tale of the Wonderful Child, - M ary, his worshiping Mother mild, - A ngels adoring in Heav’n above - S inging their praises of infinite love, - - _So should it be on Christmas, - Ever should be on Christmas!_ - - - - -THE MAN IN THE MOON - -(_A German Folk-Tale_) - - - In Germany, the story goes, - Once lived a thieving peasant, - Who pilfered from his neighbor’s stores - What to his taste was pleasant. - All in a garden, near at hand, - Some cabbages were growing, - And forth he slipped, one Christmas Eve, - No shame, no reverence, knowing, - To fill his basket in the dark, - When none abroad were going. - - He still was pulling, might and main, - His greediness unbounded, - When on the hard and frosty road - A horse’s tramp resounded. - White shone the steed, the rider white, - His face showed many a wrinkle; - Low bent the thief, for silver-bright - The stars began to twinkle. - “’Tis good Saint Nicholas!” he cried, - “I hear his hand-bell tinkle!” - - The stately Bishop drew his rein-- - He spied the peasant hiding; - “’Tis Holy Christmas Eve,” called he, - “Thy guilt’s the more abiding! - Go stand thou in the frozen moon, - And come thou downward never! - So long as earth lasts, nothing shall - Thee and thy booty sever!” - - * * * * * - - Still in the moon the culprit dwells, - ’Mid cabbages forever! - -[Illustration: “GO STAND THOU IN THE FROZEN MOON!”] - - - - -TO A CHILD ON CHRISTMAS - -(ACROSTIC) - - - C hildren should on Christmas be - H and in hand around a tree. - R inging voices should resound - I n a carol’s joyful round, - S inging of the Baby born - T o the world on Christmas morn. - M usic such as this can say - A ll glad things in gladdest way; - S ongs of love on Christmas Day! - - - - -CHRISTMAS SECRETS - - - I just love secrets; it’s such fun - To hint and whisper, hide and run, - And Christmas time of all the year - Is just when there’s the greatest fear - That folks will find out what you’re doin’ - And bring your plans to rack and ruin. - - My Christmas shoppin’--it’s all done - And presents bought for every one. - Nobody knows exceptin’ me - What all the things are goin’ to be. - They’re always askin’, but I say: - “You’d better wait till Christmas Day!” - - I’ve bought my father somethin’ white - And thin and smooth; you fold it tight - And in your pocket is its house; - It snuggles there just like a mouse. - I told my father all of this, - But he says _he_ can’t guess what ’tis! - - My mother’s present is to wear, - There’s two of it, it’s called a pair; - It’s smooth and shiny, black and white, - It goes by day and goes by night. - My mother guessed a bird, with wings-- - When ever did you hear such things! - - I bought my sister somethin’ red, - You tie it tight around your head; - It’s silky-smooth as any rose. - What can it be, do you suppose? - My sister guessed a bathin’ hat-- - As if I’d give a thing like that! - - They’re not good guessers, though they’re dear; - They’ll never know my plans, that’s clear. - When Christmas comes, what glad surprise - And thanks will shine from all their eyes. - There’s not a clam down by the sea - Can hold his tongue so well as Me! - - - - -HOW THE CHRIST-FLOWER BLOOMED - -(_From a German Legend_) - - - Dark was the sky that Christmas Eve, - The heavy clouds hung low; - The charcoal burner scarce could trace - His pathway through the snow. - - Black Forest trees stood thick and tall, - Black Forest drifts were deep; - Yet light of heart he hastened home - The Christmas feast to keep. - - A cheese of goat’s milk, coarse black bread-- - The morrow’s scanty meal, - From prying frost and envious sleet - He struggled to conceal. - - He stumbled on, when through the blast - A piteous cry was heard, - And close beside him, heaped in snows, - A wailing infant stirred. - - “Now, who has laid thee here, sweet babe, - To perish in the storm? - ’Tis Christmas Eve; I’ll take thee home, - My cloak shall wrap thee warm.” - - The tiny creature, as he spoke, - He gathered to his breast, - And there beyond, his cottage shone, - In Christmas firelight dressed. - - Within the good-wife’s tender arms - The shivering waif was set, - And children’s faces bent above, - And eyes with pity wet. - - Warm and content, the stranger babe - Gazed wondering o’er the room, - And spied at last the children’s tree, - A Christmas rose in bloom. - - Eager they ran to show the lights, - And round their treasure pressed; - When lo! a glimmering cloud of mist - Enwrapped the wondrous guest. - - On silver-shining wings he rose, - His fair head bore a crown, - And vanishing, with baby hands - He wafted blessings down. - - Next morning, where amid the snows - The Babe had made his bed, - Fair as a star, and dazzling white, - The Christ-Flower raised its head. - - They bore it home, and every year - In depths of winter wild, - Chrysanthemums bloom in that cot, - Where came the Holy Child. - - - - -A DEAR LITTLE BOY - - - A gay soldier-jacket, - A suitcase to pack it, - A box full of candy, - A fine Jack-a-dandy, - Kind Christmas is bringing to me. - A red-crested Polly, - A garland of holly, - A nut and a raisin, - A fine trumpet brazen,-- - Oh, what a rich boy I shall be! - - Some nails and a hammer - To make a fine clamor, - A pony to ride on, - Some stilts I can stride on, - Kind Christmas is bringing to me. - A yellow canary - My pets for to vary, - A jar full of cookies, - Some nice picture-bookies,-- - Oh, what a rich boy I shall be! - - Some sleigh-bells to jingle, - Like those of Kriss Kringle, - Two little black kittens, - A pair of red mittens, - Kind Christmas is bringing to me. - A purse full of money, - A snowy-white bunny,-- - A horse fit for rocking, - Some sweets for my stocking,-- - Oh, what a rich boy I shall be! - - My trundle-bed scorning, - When comes the glad morning, - My gifts I’ll find early, - With fine hurly-burly, - What Christmas is bringing to me. - “Get up!” I’ll be saying, - “I want to go playing! - My breakfast be hasting, - There’s no time for wasting!” - Oh, what a rich boy I shall be! - - “And grandmother’s ‘fairing’?” - She’s too old for caring! - “And wee sister Jennie?” - She’s too small for any. - Kind Christmas is coming to ME! - “My father and mother?” - Oh, they will not bother, - If I am not sighing, - Nor fretting nor crying, - Oh, what a rich boy I shall be! - - - - -“L’OISEAU DE DIEU”[3] - -(_A Legend of Normandy_) - - - When sweet Babe Jesus sleeping lay - And shivered with the cold; - The wee brown wren took thought to Him, - Her down she plucked and brought to Him, - Enwrapped Him, fold on fold. - - When sweet Babe Jesus craved a robe, - A-couching in the hay, - Her own warm plumes she laid on Him, - A feathered garb she made on Him, - That blessed Christmas Day. - - Babe Jesus lacked a coverlet; - The rude wind stole within; - The wren brought leaves and spread on Him, - Russet and gold she shed on Him, - And lapped Him softly in. - - Dear bird of brown, thou tender heart, - Thou gav’st the Babe thine all! - To praise thee is most meet to us, - Thy pitying deeds are sweet to us, - God’s blessing on thee fall! - - -FOOTNOTE - -[3] God’s Bird. - - - - -CHRISTMAS IN NORWAY - - - A flock of crows a caucus held - Upon a certain day, - And talked of many a sober theme, - In sober, serious way. - - They touched on corn, on growing crops, - They praised the plough and hoe; - And bolder ones of scarecrows spoke - With bated breath and low. - - At length, a crow advanced in years, - His speech a feeble caw, - Arose to tell of things that he - In foreign countries saw. - - “One Christmas Day I chanced to be - In Norway,” quoth the bird; - “And ’twas the coldest winter wind - That e’er my feathers stirred. - - “My mate was ill and could not fly, - And, anxious at her plight, - I pondered where to seek her food - Through all the bitter night. - - “The morning broke on icy trees, - And fields adrift with snow, - And faint with hunger, numb with cold - I scarce knew where to go. - - “Beyond the wood a farmhouse stood, - And there at length I flew, - Hoping to find a seed or crumb - To feed my mate so true. - - “Wary, I flapped above the roof, - When, what my eyes should greet, - But, fixed to gable, door and gate, - Great sheaves of golden wheat! - - “Behind the shining window-panes, - Stood children all a-row, - And happy voices eager cried, - ‘Bright Christmas! Master Crow!’ - - “Oh, blessings on those kindly folk - At Christmas evermore, - And blest be all that feed the birds - In Norway’s rocky shore!” - - He ceased. A chorus loud arose - From birds both far and near; - “Ah! would the children in this land - Provide such Christmas cheer!” - - - - -THE HAUGHTY ASPEN - -(_A German Legend_) - - - _As I went through the tangled wood - I heard the Aspen shiver. - “What dost thou ail, sweet Aspen, say, - Why do thy leaflets quiver?”_ - - “’Twas long ago,” the Aspen sighed-- - How long is past my knowing-- - “When Mary Mother rode adown - This wood where I was growing. - Blest Joseph journey’d by her side, - Upon his good staff resting, - And in her arms the Heav’nly Babe, - Dove of the World, was nesting. - Fair was the mother, shining-fair, - A lily sweetly blowing; - The Babe was but a lily-bud, - Like to his mother showing. - The birds began, ‘Thy Master comes! - Bow down, bow down before Him!’ - The date, the fig, the hazel tree, - In rev’rence bent to adore Him. - I only, out of all the host - Of bird and tree and flower,-- - I, haughty, would not bow my head, - Nor own my Master’s power. - ‘Proud Aspen,’ quoth the Mother-Maid, - ‘Thy Lord, dost thou defy Him? - When emperors worship at His shrine, - Wilt courtesy deny Him?’ - I heard her voice; my heart was rent, - My boughs began to shiver, - And age on age, in punishment, - My sorrowing leaflets quiver.” - - _Still in the dark and tangled wood, - Still doth the Aspen quiver. - The haughty tree doth bear a curse, - Her leaflets aye must shiver._ - - - - -REMEMBER! - - - What’s the very best rhyme for December? - Why, of course you must know ’tis REMEMBER! - Remember the snowflakes, - The green Christmas tree, - The red holly berries - Each season we see. - Remember! December! Remember! - - What word do bells ring in December? - Why, of course you can hear ’tis REMEMBER! - Remember the carols, - The tinkle of sleighs, - The chickadee singing - In gloomiest days. - Remember! December! Remember! - - What story is told in December? - To read it once is to remember, - Remember the manger, - The Baby that lay, - His sweet mother watching, - All cradled in hay. - Remember! December! Remember! - - What song do we sing in December, - When the birth of the Babe we remember? - The song of the angels, - We echo it still; - O’er all the earth singing - Of peace and good will. - Remember! December! Remember! - - - - -A NEW YEAR’S SONG - - - On New Year’s Eve in England, - All in the olden day, - The children went a-caroling, - All in the olden way; - And ever as they journey’d on, - This chorus would you hear:-- - “God send you happy, God send you happy, - Pray God send you a happy New Year!” - - Across the fields and meadows - And through the frosty light, - While starry eyes and starry skies - Illumed the wintry night, - The children caroled blithely on, - In chorus sweet and clear:-- - “God send you happy, God send you happy, - Pray God send you a happy New Year!” - - Our days are sadly modern, - Our ways are modern, too; - But hearts still beat as high with love - As once they used to do-- - So take the old-time message, - Good friends, both far and near: - “God send you happy, God send you happy, - Pray God send you a happy New Year!” - - - - -THE BOASTFUL SNOWFLAKE - - - A snowflake remarked to his mother one day, - His calm sweet mother of cloud so gray, - “When _I_ fall to earth, there’s none but will know, - For I’ll fall with a whiz, and a whir, and a go! - I’ll pile up a drift by myself, all alone, - As high as a steeple and hard as a stone. - I’ll roll up a snowball as round as the moon, - And big as the sun when he shines out at noon. - I’ll make a great snow-man, so tall and so grand - He can hold a whole boy in the palm of his hand. - Here I go! See me fly! One and all, look at me! - I’m a Snowflake from Cloudland--at last I am free!” - He drifted to earth like a feather afloat, - A gallant young sailor, a breeze for a boat, - When a wonderful flower appeared to his view, - All dewy with fragrance, all brilliant of hue. - He longed to caress it, give one kiss so light, - He yearned just to touch it, and paused in his flight-- - Alas, for the snowflake--ambition grew weak, - He died for the rose on a soft baby cheek! - - - - -THE GOOSE FAIR AT WARSAW - - - Hiss! Hiss! Quack! Quack! - The geese are trooping to Warsaw! - In Warsaw there’s a giant Fair, - And through the chill December air, - O’er hills and uplands brown and bare, - Waddling here and waddling there, - The geese go forth to Warsaw. - - Hiss! Hiss! Quack! Quack! - The geese are trooping to Warsaw! - For every winter, I’ve been told, - A Goose Fair in that town they hold, - And be they young or be they old, - Sweet maiden geese, or ganders bold, - They all must fare to Warsaw. - - Hiss! Hiss! Quack! Quack! - The geese are trooping to Warsaw! - A million geese, or so they say, - In noisy flocks are on the way. - There’ll be the very deuce to pay - If such an army goes astray, - Of geese that tramp to Warsaw. - - Hiss! Hiss! Quack! Quack! - The geese are trooping to Warsaw! - The goose-herds drive them, all a-row, - And very well indeed they know - That geese can never barefoot go, - O’er frozen ground and eke on snow, - The many miles to Warsaw. - - Hiss! Hiss! Quack! Quack! - The geese are trooping to Warsaw! - But ere they leave their master’s land, - They walk through tar and then through sand, - And so on well-shod feet they stand, - As, in a feathered army grand, - The geese march on to Warsaw. - - _Hiss! Hiss! Quack! Quack! - With arching neck and curving back, - The booted geese go cackling down - To meet their fate in Warsaw town. - Hiss! Hiss!_ - -[Illustration: THE GEESE ARE TROOPING TO WARSAW] - - - - -THE FAIRY RING[4] - - - Throned on a grassy knoll, I watch - The elfin host come trooping by, - And hear the whir of fairy wings, - The goblin voices, shrill and high. - Behind them glides a magic train - Of Kings and Princes, armor-clad, - And serving as their squires bold - Boots, Ashiepattle, Cinderlad. - With silken rustle, flash of gem, - Queen and Czaritsa sweep along, - While red-capped Troll and rainbow Sprite - Peep out amid the enchanted throng. - - Ting-ling, ting-ling, how sweet the ring, - Like golden bells, of fairy laughter; - Rap-tap, rap-tap, how sharp the clap - Of fairy footfalls following after! - - Where witch-grass grows and fern-seed lies, - A fairy ring is dimly seen; - And there a glitt’ring host is met - To dance upon the moonlit green. - Riquet, the Tufted, lightly turns - The Fair One with the Golden Hair; - And Prince Desire and Mignonette - Form yet another graceful pair. - Tall as a tower stands Galifron; - The Desert Fay, with snakes bedight, - First pirouettes with him and then - With wee Tom Thumb, King Arthur’s Knight. - - Ting-ling, ting-ling, how sweet the ring, - Like golden bells, of fairy laughter; - Rap-tap, rap-tap, how sharp the clap - Of fairy footfalls following after! - - Sweet, unseen harpers harp and sing, - Faint elfin horns the air repeat; - Rapunzel shakes her shining braids, - The White Cat trips with velvet feet. - Rose-red, Snow-white, the faithful Bear, - Cross hands with gallant Percinet; - While Tattercoats, in turn, salutes - Yvon, the Fearless, and Finette.--But - hark! the cock begins to crow; - The darkness turns to day, and where - The fairy dancers trod the green, - Now is the space but empty air. - - -FOOTNOTE - -[4] From _The Fairy Ring_. By permission of Messrs. Doubleday, Page & -Co. - - - - -I WONDER![5] - - - I wonder if, in Samarcand, - Grave camels kneel in golden sand, - Still lading bales of magic spells, - And charms a lover’s wisdom tells, - To fare across the desert main - And bring the Princess home again-- - I wonder! - - I wonder in Japan to-day - If grateful beasts find out the way - To those who succored them in pain, - And bring their blessings back again; - If cranes and sparrows take the shape, - And all the ways of mortals ape-- - I wonder! - - In Bagdad may there still be found - That blackish powder, finely ground, - Which changes all who on it feast, - Monarch or slave, to bird or beast? - Do Caliphs taste and, unafraid, - Turn storks and weeping night-owls aid? - I wonder! - - I wonder if in far Cathay - The nightingale still trills her lay - Beside the Porcelain Palace door, - And courtiers praise her as before? - If emperors dream of bygone things, - And, musing, weep the while she sings? - I wonder! - - Such things have never chanced to me. - I wonder if, to eyes that see, - These magic visions still appear - In daily living, now and here? - If every flower is touched with glory? - If e’en the grass-blades tell a story? - I wonder! - - -FOOTNOTE - -[5] From _Tales of Wonder_. By permission of Messrs. Doubleday, Page & -Co. - - - - -EVERYBODY’S BABY - - - Pray, where does the bonniest baby dwell, - The sweetest that ever did grow? - Say, where shall I find it, now truthfully tell, - Please show me the way I must go. - - _The bonniest baby that ever did grow, - Without a “perhaps,” or a “maybe,” - It is hers, it is mine, it is his, it is thine; - Oh, it’s everybody’s baby!_ - - But choices in babies there surely must be, - Though all may be charming and pretty; - The fairest, the rarest, the dearest of all, - Must needs be the theme of my ditty. - - _The very same story I can but repeat, - Without a “perhaps,” or a “maybe,” - It is hers, it is mine, it is his, it is thine; - Oh, it’s everybody’s baby!_ - - There isn’t a baby on earth, you maintain, - That isn’t a duck and a treasure, - A beauty, a jewel, a poppet, a pet, - The life of the house and its pleasure? - - _I stoutly maintain it; I state it again, - Without a “perhaps,” or a “maybe,” - It is hers, it is mine, it is his, it is thine, - It is everybody’s baby!_ - - - - -WHICH IS THE ROYAL BABY?[6] - - - A cradle of gold has the Czarevitch, - With gold-leaf drapery shrouded; - Two chairs, with a pillow, my baby’s bed - In a tenement chamber crowded; - But my pretty one nestles as softly down - As the wee little lad that’s born to a crown-- - So, which is the royal baby? - - In Caucasus linen the Czarevitch goes, - And wonderful diamonds hold it; - This treasure of mine wears a cotton gown, - And ribbons of blue enfold it; - But his eyes shine out from a kingly face, - And he wears his robe with a sov’reign grace,-- - So, which is the royal baby? - - Tall Cossacks keep watch o’er the Czarevitch, - And sentries are set at his portal; - My little one has but a single guard,-- - He who keepeth all things mortal; - But nobody grudges my baby’s life - Like the Russian princeling’s, born to strife,-- - So, which is the royal baby? - - Three nurses, they say, has the Czarevitch, - With degrees from a royal college. - Alas, for my sweeting! He has but one, - And love is her only knowledge! - But the Queen of the Russias may not stay - With her prince, like me, for the livelong day,-- - So, which is the royal baby? - - -FOOTNOTE - -[6] Written in 1905 - - - - -FLOWER SONG - -(_Adapted from Froebel_) - - - Why is the flower’s breath so sweet? - Ah, who can tell the reason! - Perhaps the angel-children fair, - Come in the blossom season, - And with their blessed hands they touch - Each bud so small, - Each posy tall;-- - To think so were no treason. - - No baby eye, however bright, - May see their garments flowing, - Among the blooms they softly pass, - Rich odors round them strowing, - Ah, honey-sweet the flower they touched! - Sweet as the breeze - That rocks the trees - When apple-buds are blowing. - - - - -SWEET SLEEP[7] - - - Sweet sleep, fleet sleep, - Come to Baby here! - With thy calm hand, - With thy cool hand, - Touch these eyelids dear. - - Dream-land, gleam-land, - Ope thy golden doors. - Let these wee feet, - Let these soft feet, - Tread thy rainbow floors. - - White wings, bright wings, - Baby, guard thy bed. - Angels watch thee, - Angels ward thee, - Blessings ’round thee shed. - - -FOOTNOTE - -[7] Music: Beethoven’s “Sonata Pathétique.” Opus 13. - - - - -THE MAKING OF THE FLAG - - - Fivescore and forty years ago, - Fivescore and forty years,-- - This land was but an infant, then, - The child of blood and tears. - - To-day a mighty nation, - A hundred million souls - Are nurtured by her splendid strength, - Are mustered on her rolls. - - But even in that long ago, - That time of stress and strife, - When Liberty, beset by foes, - Was battling for her life, - - E’en then, they waved a standard, - They made Britannia yield; - The crosses of her patron saints - Still blazoned on its field. - - But for new times, new customs; - Columbia, from her throne, - With goddess-pride demanded - A banner of her own. - - The Continental Congress, - O’erheard Columbia’s call - And to fulfill her mandate - Its members gathered all. - - “Resolved,” they vowed in conclave,-- - So history relates. - “A proud new Flag befits the pride - Of these United States. - - “Its stripes of white and crimson - Shall thirteen states unite; - The Union be denoted - By thirteen stars of white.” - - They sought no novel colors; - What colors should there be - Save white for Faith and blue for Hope - And red for Liberty? - - And when they’d planned the banner, - The Fathers straight went down - With Washington to Betsy Ross, - Of Philadelphy town. - - Her needlework was noted - Wherever art was prized; - The Flags she wrought were famous, - Her skill was recognized. - - So Betsy, blooming Betsy, - A patriot’s widow, she, - Was first to cut and fashion - The Flag of Liberty. - - Oh, Betsy, blessed Betsy, - What name or fame can be - So sweet as yours who ’broidered - The Banner of the Free? - - The Flag your art created, - Where’er it be unfurled, - Proclaims the Rights of Freemen, - The Safety of the World. - - - - -THE ANSWER OF THE FLAG - - - CHILD _speaks_: - - Flag of our Country, - Our red, white, and blue, - Say, whence are thy colors-- - Each wonderful hue? - - FLAG _speaks_: - - Deep in the sunset sky, - When light was dying, - Streamed crimson banners, like - Wild armies flying. - Where, ’twixt two bands of gray, - One bar lay flaming, - Leaned I and plucked it out, - Mine for the claiming. - - CHILD _speaks_: - - Flag of our Country, - Right well hast thou done! - Thy red glows like rubies, - Like heart of the sun. - - FLAG _speaks_: - - When Summer lays her hand, - Softly caressing, - Over the rounded earth, - Leaving her blessing, - White sail the clouds above, - Clear as the morning; - From these I chose me one - For mine adorning. - - CHILD _speaks_: - - Flag of our Country, - Thy heav’n-pure white, - Like crystal in sunshine, - It dazzles the sight! - - FLAG _speaks_: - - Yet there remains my blue, - Jewel-besprinkled, - Like to some dusky pool, - Where the stars twinkled. - Night doffed her misty veil - When all were sleeping, - Unclasped her starry crown, - Gave to my keeping. - - CHILD _speaks_: - - Flag of our Country, - Thy blue is more rare - Than turquoise or gentian; - ’Tis measureless air! - - FLAG _speaks_: - - Child, may my brilliant hues, - Chosen from heaven, - Serve as thy benison, - Prove as thy leaven; - Flaming may be thy heart, - Loving and giving, - Clear as the stars thy will, - Snow-white thy living! - - - - -PROTECT THE FLAG - - - We hail with delight a tattered flag - That’s darkened with battle-stains. - But never one that’s a battered flag, - The victim of storms and rains. - - We may wave a banner, service-torn, - That led in a gallant fray, - But flaunt no ensign that’s weather-worn, - No bunting that’s had its day. - - The flag that has served is a sacred flag, - No matter how worn it be; - The one that’s neglected is nobody’s flag, - That nobody cares to see. - - Protect “Old Glory,” nor let it rack, - Like a storm-rent sail at sea; - No slight must sully, no insult stain - The star-sown flag of the Free. - - - - -A COLLAR OF HONOR - - - In France, sunny France, far away o’er the sea, - There are things that they do rather better than we; - Perhaps these are many, perhaps but a few-- - Be that as it may, there’s one thing that they do: - They recognize merit where’er it is found - And ever its praises are willing to sound; - And even a dog, if he act well his part, - Is held in esteem in the popular heart. - You feel it, you know it, you see that it’s so, - When you meet in the street, as you stroll to and fro, - The dogs with their collars of honor. - - A dog who has rescued in perilous strife - A poor human creature, and saved him his life, - Is counted thereafter a ward of the state, - The charge of officials, from petty to great. - His bed and his board are forever assured; - In health he is tended, in illness he’s cured. - A band of bright metal he wears round his throat, - And pride of it shows in each hair of his coat. - You feel it, you know it, you see that it’s so, - When you meet in the street, as you stroll to and fro, - The dogs with their collars of honor. - - At Brest, should you go there, as I did one night,-- - ’Tis a post of the navy and well worth a sight,-- - A Newfoundland dog you may happen to meet, - A hero whose praises the sailors repeat. - So many he’s rescued from tempest and wreck - That a grand decoration he wears at his neck. - It hangs from his collar, and when it is seen - He is gravely saluted by each bold marine. - E’en sentries do homage when trots up and down, - Bejeweled, beribboned, this pride of the town, - This dog with his collar of honor. - -[Illustration: HE IS GRAVELY SALUTED BY EACH BOLD MARINE] - - - - -THE CHILDREN’S SHIP - -(_Presented to the Picture-Book Fund for French Children_) - - - What ship is this comes speeding on? - They say she’s bound for France. - Why, sir, she’s called the “Children’s Ship” - And every wave’s a-dance - To push her swift across the sea, - For over there, they say, - There’s hosts of homeless little folk, - Who weep instead of play. - - And what’s her freight, my little man, - What cargo does she bear? - Is’t food to eat, or milk to drink, - Or clothes for babes to wear? - Why, sir, our ship has none of these! - French children all are sad; - We’re sending heaps of laughing-stock - And stuff to make them glad. - - Our ship is crammed with savings-banks, - From turret down to hold, - And some are full of silver coins - And some are full of gold, - This splendid treasure we’ve amassed - And all is freely sent - To buy those children picture-books, - And bring them back content. - - They say the French, poor little things, - Can’t read an English word, - But picture-books are in a tongue - That every one has heard. - We’ve saved our pennies, day by day, - Nor given toys a glance - And now the money’ll change to smiles - For little folk in France. - - - - -SOLDIER OR SLACKER - - - It isn’t because he carries a gun - And sleeps in a tent when the day is done, - That a man is called a soldier; - Nor because he marches, with head held high - And a swift salute when the flag goes by, - For none of these make a soldier. - - ’Tis because he heeds when an order’s heard, - Because he obeys it with never a word, - That a man is called a soldier; - Because his weapons are shining bright, - His courage steady from morn till night,-- - For these are the signs of a soldier. - - ’Tis slackers who argue and fail to obey, - ’Tis slackers who pout when they can’t have their way, - They’re not for the life of a soldier. - ’Tis slackers who idle and won’t do their bit, - They never could fight, for they haven’t the grit, - Oh, valor it takes for a soldier! - - - - -LEARNING TO KNIT - - - I want so much to learn to knit - That Grandma said if I would sit - Quite patiently, nor fret, nor pout, - Should all my work be raveled out, - She’d try to teach me, for I ought - To learn while still a child, she thought. - - “You hold the needles so,” she said, - “And round your finger wind your thread. - Take up a stitch and knit it plain, - And then another one again; - Be sure and do not knit too tight, - Keep all the stitches well in sight.” - - “Don’t split a stitch, don’t twist the wool; - Slip off the loop and never pull; - Don’t drop a stitch, do what you will, - For such a gap no art can fill. - See that the work looks smooth and plain; - If rough, then all your toil’s in vain!” - - The while she talked, her fingers flew - As swift as birds across the blue; - Her needles twinkled like the rain - That dashes down the window-pane; - Her ball went round at such a pace - You held your breath to see it race. - - I wonder if in Grandma’s day - _Their_ grandmas taught in such a way! - A modern child’s too slow, by far, - To learn from such a shooting-star; - As well a rabbit might, for fun, - Instruct a tortoise how to run! - - - - -THE TIMID OYSTER - - - Look upon the timid oyster, - Ever growing moist and moister, - As he hides within his cloister - By the sea. - To all common human seeing, - We can hardly help agreeing, - Never yet was calmer being - Than is he! - - Yet with nerves he has his troubles, - And when thunder boils and bubbles, - Then his nervousness redoubles, - So they say. - He has nowhere to betake him, - When the thunder-terrors shake him, - No asylum can he make him, - Far away. - - Timid, shrinking little oyster, - Do you never yearn to royster, - In your damp and dusky cloister, - ’Mid the storm? - As we tenderly inspect you, - How we hanker to protect you, - From all storm-winds to deflect you, - Keep you warm. - - Come to us when noise annoys you, - When sweet hope no longer buoys you, - When the thunder-peal destroys you, - Come at will. - Condiments we’ll have to meet you, - Ice and lemon bring to greet you, - But though grandly thus we’ll treat you, - We’ll be still! - - - - -DINNER-TIME - - - My mother says with changing days - Come just as many changing ways; - There’s change in dresses, change in hats - And eke in balls and cricket-bats. - Even in words the fashions vary; - What once was fine, grows ordinary. - Such questions trouble not my head, - But there’s one thing I really dread! - If dinner-time gets so belated - That every child on earth is fated - To go to bed before it’s ready, - How can he keep his courage steady? - In Froissart’s time, Kings dined at ten, - The morning ten, of course, and when - Their subjects called on them at five, - They found them only half alive, - With nightcaps on, and yawning so - That courtiers quick prepared to go. - Louis Quatorze, the Monarch Grand, - Had matters vastly better planned. - At twelve o’clock he dined and wined; - As good a time as one could find! - Charles Second dined at one, an hour - That lasted long as did his power, - For when he ceased to dine at all - At two they ate in palace-hall. - At four o’clock, in Cowper’s days, - The meal was served, the poet says, - A wretched time, mistake complete; - A time to play and not to eat! - When Waterloo had come and gone, - When gentle Peace ruled Albion, - And “Boney” ceased to play his tricks, - The dinner-hour was changed to six. - With glory fed, the nation well - Might thus retard the dinner-bell. - Dinner at six for long held sway, - But seven’s an hour approved to-day, - And mother asks her friends at eight. - I hear the doom pronounced by Fate-- - Soon will they dine at midnight deep, - When every child is wrapped in sleep. - - - - -THE WANDERING EELS[8] - - - The times are out of joint, my dears, - The world no longer wags - As once it did when we were young; - Domestic virtue lags. - The lads are always in the street, - The lasses far from home, - And though you’d scarce believe it, dears, - E’en eels begin to roam! - - Time was when every eel, my dears, - Went early to his bed, - And such a thing as midnight swim - Ne’er entered in his head. - But now by day he simply squirms - Where shallow waters be, - While when the curfew tolls, my dears, - He wriggles out to sea! - - In Denmark they’re so bad, my dears, - These vicious, vagrant eels, - That government has laid a plot - Which deepest art conceals, - To make them think that day is night, - Or rather, night is day, - For only in the dark, my dears, - Will they set on their way. - - From Denmark to its isles, my dears, - And from its headlands steep, - They’ve laid a cable strung with lamps, - Illumining the deep. - The sportive eels at night come out - To run away to sea, - And finding that it’s light, my dears, - Slip back again for tea! - - A moral there is hid, my dears, - Within this watery tale, - And just as brightly does it shine - As any fish’s scale. - Whene’er you leave your house at night, - With frolics in your head, - And find the streets alight, my dears, - Just toddle home to bed! - - -FOOTNOTE - -[8] In order to prevent eels from leaving the coasts of Denmark, the -government is laying a cable between the mainland and an adjacent -island, which is to be strung with electric lamps. This luminous -barrier is to keep the eels, who travel only at night, from emigrating -to deep water. - - - - -EASTER BLOSSOMS - - - Far away, down in the dark of the earth - While the cold March winds are blowing, - The grasses are making their way to birth, - And the Easter flowers are growing. - - So deep in the heart of each little child, - No matter what may be the weather, - Kind thoughts may be growing, and virtues mild, - Be twining and blooming together. - - - - -THE LIFE-PRESERVERS - - - It happened on Ascension Day; - She came along the flowery way, - A tiny cricket bearing. - He lodged within a cage of wood, - Though prisoned, yet in heartsome mood, - For strong his chirp and daring. - - ’Twas Florence in a radiant spring, - Ah, could my verses to you bring - A glimpse of half its wonder! - Could make you taste the honeyed air, - And breathe the flowers everywhere, - The green grass waving under. - - The cricket shone as black as jet; - No less the locks that waving met - The little maiden’s shoulder. - Her voice, at first, was scarcely heard-- - A cricket’s voice, from nesting stirred-- - But soon, like his, grow bolder. - - “Ne’er have I seen a cricket caged,” - I said, “nor as a pet engaged, - Although a household blessing!” - “Good sir,” she lisped, “Ascension morn - Must every child in Florence born, - A cricket be possessing. - - “And early, early do we look - In every park and grassy nook, - Where crickets breed and nourish; - And when they’re caught and prisoned here, - We’ll live and thrive another year, - If through the day they flourish!” - - “My little maid, it cannot be - A cricket holds your life in fee - And all on him you’re chancing!” - “Old man,” she cried, “there’s not a doubt, - All Florentines have found it out!” - And down the road went dancing. - - I shook my head. The world is rife - With toil and care; a bubble’s life, - And death will come to prick it; - But of all fragile things that be - Most frail is that, it seems to me, - Which hangs upon a cricket! - - - - -TALKING THROUGH THE HAT - -OR - -THE MANNERS OF KOREA - - - The not uncommon saying, “You are talking through your hat!” - Must have come from old Korea, where they’re quite adept in that. - All the head-gear’s telescopic in the ancient Hermit-land, - And may be shot up at pleasure when you meet a noble grand. - For a commoner it’s lowered; even then ’tis not so small, - For it’s three feet in diameter and seven inches tall. - - Say you’re walking of a morning in an old Korean street, - And a grandly hatted gentleman you happen for to meet; - Should his covering be yellow, with a kind of toadstool brim, - You may know he is in mourning, and may straight condole with him. - His may be a recent sorrow, or persistence of an old; - But in tones of buff and amber his bereavement will be told. - - Turn a corner and, advancing, you may see a smiling face, - Topped by hat bedecked with jewels or set off with beaded lace. - If the trimming’s long and ample and is tied beneath the chin, - You may ask a loan of money and the favor hope to win. - Such adornment means prosperity and great success in life; - Or the stranger may be happy and have chosen well his wife. - - Should the morning be uncertain and the wind a wavering one, - With a mass of gathering shadows and capricious gleams of sun, - From the hats of certain persons skirts of paper may depend, - For to serve them as umbrellas, should a sudden storm descend. - The Korean Weather Bureau thus is organized, you see, - And may be by all consulted, safe from any form of fee. - - If you’re bidden to a party in the Land of Morning Calm, - You may proudly bear the missive in your hat of braided palm. - Thus your status in society is settled once for all, - And you’re sure to be invited if Dame Grundy gives a ball. - Hats may also serve as bill-boards, and upon them you may post - Such a bit of news or gossip as may interest you most. - - In Korea, then, the head-gear’s the essential thing in life; - But a man may not assume one till he’s sought him out a wife. - Hats accompany betrothal, as with marriage goes a ring, - And the safely plighted lover hymns of joy may fitly sing. - Scorn a woman in Korea, and the sex your scorn repays, - For with ribboned pigtail hanging, you go hatless all your days. - -[Illustration: TALKING THROUGH THE HAT - -“IT’S THREE FEET IN DIAMETER AND SEVEN INCHES TALL.” - -“SUCH ADORNMENT MEANS PROSPERITY AND GREAT SUCCESS IN LIFE.” - -“YOU MAY KNOW HE IS IN MOURNING AND STRAIGHT CONDOLE WITH HIM.” - -“FOR TO SERVE THEM AS UMBRELLAS, SHOULD A SUDDEN STORM DESCEND.” - -“FOR WITH RIBBONED PIGTAIL HANGING, YOU GO HATLESS ALL YOUR DAYS.” - -“HATS MAY ALSO SERVE AS BILL-BOARDS.”] - - - - -THE DAY OF THE DOG - - - In a sheltered spot of a sunny street, - I saw on a wintry morn, - A meeting of dogs of every degree, - Both nobly and humbly born. - A paper thrown on the sidewalk down - Engaged them all to stay, - And they listened the while a mastiff read,-- - “The dogs are having their day!” - - “The place of the dog,” so the paper said, - “Has been a precarious one, - Dependent on birth, upon personal charm, - And not upon duty done; - But now that a dog is judged by his work, - These things have vanished away. - The mongrel pup is as good as the rest,-- - The dogs are having their day!” - - “And what is this work?” asked a tiny Skye; - “Is it anything strange or new? - We always have served with all of our hearts, - We always have been true blue.” - “’Tis soldier work,” a Newfoundland cried, - “So all of the papers say; - Just hear what the mastiff is going to read,-- - The dogs are having their day!” - - “A shepherd dog,” the chronicle says, - “Two miles and a half ran he, - In minutes ten, through a storm of shell, - For help for his Company. - A nameless dog, of no descent, - Rushed into the thick of the fray, - And dragged a wounded soldier back,-- - The dogs are having their day!” - - “They went as searchers through No Man’s Land, - They guarded the loaded wains; - Courageous, loyal, they kept their watch - O’er the wounded in railway trains; - They served as sentinels, none could pass - Where they crouched and sleepless lay; - They carried messages far and fast,-- - The dogs are having their day!” - - I listened a while as the mastiff read, - For he paid little heed to me, - And his audience greeted with barks of joy, - Each proof of efficiency; - The dog-star is riding high, I thought, - And though it was long on the way, - The faithful at last are receiving their meed,-- - The dogs are having their day! - - - - -MEADOW TALK - - - “Don’t pick all the flowers!” cried Daisy one day - To a rosy-cheeked boy who was passing her way; - “If you take every one, you will very soon see - That when next summer comes, not a bud will there be!” - - “Quite true!” said the Clover, - “And over and over - I’ve sung that same song, - To whoe’er came along.” - - Quoth the Buttercup, “I - Have not been at all shy - In impressing that rule - On each child of the school.” - - “I’ve touched the same subject,” - Said Timothy Grass. - “‘Leave just a few flowers!’ - I beg, as they pass.” - - Sighed a shy little Fern, - From her home in the shade, - “About pulling up roots, - What a protest I’ve made!” - - “The children are heedless!” - The Gentian declared, - “When my blossom-time comes, - Not a bud will be spared.” - - “Take courage, sweet neighbor!” - The Violet said; - And raised in entreaty - Her delicate head; - - “The children are thoughtless, - I own, in my turn; - But if we _all_ teach them, - They cannot but learn.” - - “The lesson,” said the Alders, - “Is a simple one, indeed, - _Where no root is, blooms no flower, - Where no flower is, no seed._” - - “’Tis very well said!” chirped the Robin, - From the elm tree fluttering down; - “If you’ll write on your leaves such a lesson, - I’ll distribute them over the town.” - - “Oh, write it, dear Alders!” the Innocents cried, - Their pretty eyes tearfully blue, - “You are older than we are; you’re strong and you’re wise-- - There’s none but would listen to you!” - - But, ah! the Alders could not write; - And though the Robin knew - The art as well as any bird-- - Or so he said--he flew - Straight up the hill and far away, - Remarking as he went, - He had a business errand - And was not on pleasure bent. - - Did the children learn the lesson, - Though ’twas never written down? - We shall know when, gay and blithesome, - Lady Summer comes to town. - - - - -KNOCKING ON WOOD - - _Tap on the trees and the leaves will tell - Whether the fairies wish thee well._ - - - A primitive father once lived in a wood, - With a primitive daughter of primitive mood, - And a primitive wife who attended the pair - And served them the choicest of primitive fare. - The primitive daughter was fearful and shy - And afraid of her life if a hare rustled by; - The primitive wife had no valor at all - And shivered and shook if a nut chanced to fall. - - The father was often away at the chase, - Or running with danger an obstacle race, - And dreaded a loss in his primitive home, - If e’er in his absence a peril should come. - He dreaded, she dreaded, they dreaded all three, - The sprites of the air and the sprites of the sea, - The little gray gnomes that live down in the ground - And the gossamer elves that in flowers abound. - - It was only the fairies that lived in the trees, - Whose spells could protect them from evils like these; - And so, as they wended their primitive ways, - And threaded the wood in its devious maze, - They’d knock on a tree and would timidly say - To the Spirit who might be within there that day: - “Fairy fair, Fairy fair, wish thou me well; - ’Gainst evil witcheries weave me a spell!” - - Then keen would they listen with primitive ear, - Their hearing made finer and sharper by fear; - And soon would the leaves make a whisper’d reply: - “Fear ye not, mortals, no harm shall come nigh!” - Thus primitive mother and primitive child - Protected themselves in the primitive wild, - And e’en to this day is the practice made good - When, to ward off disaster, we knock upon wood. - - - - -THE ROBIN AND THE ANGLEWORM - - - A plump and saucy Robin - Was gayly hopping round, - And heard a ringèd Angleworm - A-squirming underground. - “Oh, do my ears deceive me, - Or can it really be, - A tender, juicy luncheon - Is waiting there for me?” - Thus spake the hungry Robin, - And cocked a listening ear, - An ear to hear the grass grow, - The falling dust to hear. - He tapped among the grasses - With yellow beak so gay, - “Good-morrow, neighbor Angleworm! - How’s all with you to-day?” - “I’m well, kind neighbor Robin; - The earth is sweetly damp; - You’re stepping just above me, - I feel your noisy tramp.” - “Climb up, then, slippery brother! - The rain is falling fast; - Come up and take a bite with me - Until the storm be past.” - The earthworm hurried upward; - Said Robin, with a grin, - “Well, now, you’ve troubled to come out, - I’ll thank you to come IN!” - - - - -THE JOLLY DUGONG - - - It was the jolly Dugong, - As he sat on the springing lea, - And his eyes were blue as the raven’s wing, - And his hair was black as the sea. - - He piped and he trilled on his baritone tail, - Till the fishes began to stare; - And came, with a skip o’er the shimmering sand, - To beg for their favorite air. - - Then he scratched his head with his clammy claw, - And he smoothed his face with his fin, - While he murmured, “Come hither, my aqueous friends, - And a ditty I’ll soon begin.” - - So the fishes approached with a festive flop, - In numbers even and odd; - And the halibut leaned on the pickerel’s arm, - While the trout escorted the cod. - - As the scaly bevy gathered around, - The Dugong unbuckled his belt, - And he tuned his tail with a tuning fork, - Carved out of the rib of a smelt. - - “Ah,” he sighed, “it is really a joy to receive - A mark of approval so rare, - For I very well know that a fish’s applause, - Is to flourish his skin in the air.” - - Then he warbled in notes that were merry and gay, - And in tones that were clear as a flute, - And he caroled a lay of the rolling deep, - While the fishes with joy were mute. - - The song was the one that they loved the best, - And ’twas quite a remarkable sight, - When they waved their skins in the evening air, - And rattled their bones with delight. - - “O, Rosy, my posy!” the sun-fish said, - To a herring that swam by his side, - “On similar music, we’ll constantly feed, - If you’ll be but my beauteous bride.” - - “O, halibut, walibut!” whispered the cod, - “What a glorious song of the sea! - Throw your scaly skin on the sandy shore, - And dance on the wave with me.” - - The hours slipped by, and the music went on, - While the mists of the evening arose-- - But everything earthly must come to a stop, - And e’en such a concert must close. - - The Dugong stopped singing--the hour was late, - All hurried for skins to the shore; - ’Twas confusion and bustle--each snatched what he could, - Half put them on hind-side before. - - Old Flatty, the flounder, went off in a coat - That was certainly made for the eel, - While Pinky, the salmon’s, was wretched in fit, - And extremely unpleasant in feel. - - So, highly uncomfortable, each swam away, - With a coat much too small, or too great; - And just such an accident may befall you, - If you stay at a party too late. - - - - -THE DANDIFIED MANATEE - - - Oh, the Manatee, the Manatee,-- - What does he do when the winds blow free? - He seeks some spot where the water’s low, - And curls his hair while the breezes blow; - And never a thought has he in his head, - Except that he knows when to go to his bed-- - The Manatee, the Manatee. - - Oh, the Manatee, the Manatee,-- - What does he do when the tide runs free? - With a coral shoe-brush under his thumb, - He glazes his fins with aluminum. - What matter to him the ocean’s flow. - He’s not in a mercantile line you know-- - The Manatee, the Manatee. - - Oh, the Manatee, the Manatee, - What does he do when the birds fly free? - As they rise and dip and lazily flop, - He watches intently, in hopes they may drop - A band of feathers to circle his throat, - Or some down for the edge of his redingote-- - The Manatee, the Manatee. - - Oh, the Manatee, the Manatee, - What does he do when the ships sail free? - Oh, far away where the wave’s at rest, - He searches for pearls to jewel his breast. - There’s nothing new in the rig of a ship, - And for sailor fashions he cares not a flip. - The Manatee, the Manatee. - - Oh, the Manatee, the Manatee, - A very Beau Brummell of dandies he! - His fins are polished, his hair is curled, - His dainty umbrella is properly furled! - There’s never a porpoise he meets on the sea - But plaintively murmurs, “I would I could be - The bride of that exquisite Manatee!” - - - - -YOUNG SUNDAY HAT - - - Young Sunday hat, - On a shelf she sat, - All gay with ribbons and flowers. - ’Twas Saturday night, - And the morning light - Would shine in a few short hours. - - “Alas!” she said, - “Far better dead - Than mewed up here forever. - No joy I know - Imprisoned so, - And people see me never! - - “Why couldn’t I stay - In the shop so gay, - Where all was so bright and shining; - Where all might admire, - With eager desire, - My ribbons and flowers twining?” - - As thus she sighed, - The door swung wide, - A wee maid entered singing. - With hat and fan, - Away she ran, - While Sunday bells were ringing. - - The ride was long, - The wind was strong, - They passed above a river, - Whose waters deep, - Whose banks so steep, - Set Sunday hat a-shiver. - - How shall I tell - What straight befell? - The frolic breezes caught her; - In spite of fears, - Of cries and tears, - They tossed her in the water. - - She filled and sank - Close to the bank, - The mud her sorrows crowning. - “Drive on!” she cried, - “I can’t be dried, - Far better leave me drowning.” - - Now low she lies, - Where bull-frogs wise - Around her crown are sitting. - While cool and slim - About her brim - The silver fish are flitting. - - - - -THE LOLLIPOP BUSH - - - In a garden, afar in a tropical clime, - Where the air is astir with the lily-bell’s chime, - And honey-sweet breezes from Araby blow, - There stands the green bush where the lollipops grow. - Oh, sugary lollipops, - Nectarous lollipops, - Best of all sweeties that ever did grow. - - There, torrents of soda that sparkle and gleam, - Dash foaming o’er boulders of rosy ice-cream; - But neither pink ices, nor soda’s cold flow - Compare with that bush where the lollipops grow. - Oh, sugary lollipops, - Nectarous lollipops, - Best of all sweeties that ever did grow. - - On lakes of clear syrup, the waffle-boats ply, - Past islands of cookies and mountains of pie, - But the wise, while the voyagers sail to and fro, - Remain by the bush where the lollipops grow. - Oh, sugary lollipops, - Nectarous lollipops, - Best of all sweeties that ever did grow. - - The walls of this garden are builded of buns, - All powdered with sugar and stuck full of plums, - But sweeter than these, with its fruit hanging low, - Is that wonderful bush where the lollipops grow, - Oh, sugary lollipops, - Nectarous lollipops, - Best of all sweeties that ever did grow. - - - - -DIFFERENCE IN TASTES - - - There are plenty of things that love the rain - And relish a thorough wetting, - They laugh and sing in a driving storm, - For their hearts’ delight they’re getting. - “More wet! more wet!” croaks the frog in the pond; - “More water! more water!” the flowers; - “You never can fall too long for me!” - Cries the thirsty dust to the showers; - - The puddle dimples at every drop; - The yellow-billed ducks go swimming; - The leaves of the trees are clapping their hands; - With laughter the brook is brimming; - The grasses welcome the pit-a-pat, - For beauty and strength they’re gaining; - But Water-cart mopes by himself at home, - For he can’t go out when it’s raining! - - - - -THE WORD OF A GENTLEMAN - -(_An Anecdote of Sir William Francis Patrick Napier: 1785-1860_) - - - Twilight was falling in the English village, - The green deserted and the loiterers sped, - When down the quiet road there rang a footstep, - Martial, heroic, as in battle bred. - - Musing on glories past, the gallant soldier - Savored the freshness of the evening air, - When to his ears there came a childish grieving, - A burst of sobs, a tempest of despair. - - Close to the stream that rippled by the goose-green, - Down in the grass there lay a flaxen head,-- - And just beside the curls a broken pitcher - Proclaimed the reason of the tear-drops shed. - - The general bowed his splendid height, and, softly, - “What is it, child?” he asked the little maid. - Two wet blue eyes looked up at him, in answer: - “My pitcher! Will you mend it, sir?” she said. - - The soldier smiled. “I fear ’tis past the mending; - But grieve no more, ’twas not of porcelain rare. - Take heart. Here’s sixpence bright to buy another.” - He searched his pockets. Not a coin was there! - - With parted lips the child stood, all expectant, - The general, laughing, owned his shabby plight. - “But have no fear, my sweet,” he cried. “I’ll meet thee, - At this same place and hour, to-morrow night.” - - The little maid looked in his face and trusted; - Smiling her thanks she slipped away alone. - The soldier’s homeward march was sweetly lighted - By the pure, simple faith that she had shown. - - His lodging reached, an invitation waited, - Flattering, courtly, for the morrow’s night; - The very selfsame hour at which he’d trysted - The village child beside the streamlet bright. - - “You’ll go, Sir William?” asked the anxious servant. - “Nobles alone are bid, and soldiers of the Queen!” - “To-morrow night I’m pledged,” the general answered, - “To meet a child upon the village green.” - - “To meet a little child?” the servant faltered, - And, half-believing, quick the answer heard: - “Monarch or child, to whomsoe’er he gives it, - A gentleman and soldier keeps his word!” - -[Illustration: “MY PITCHER! WILL YOU MEND IT, SIR?”] - - - - -NO MAN’S LAND - - - In No Man’s Land, five hundred and three,-- - Of course you’ll suppose that the date’s B.C. - They published a law through the country round, - A law which made great trouble, they found, - That in all the schools all over the land, - They must keep order. You understand - How hard it was for the children! - - If a boy reached school a second late - He stood all day at the entrance gate. - If a girl wrote notes in the study-hour, - She was prisoned high in the old church tower. - There was wailing and weeping from morn till night. - They always did wrong, they couldn’t do right. - Oh, hard indeed for the children! - - Playing tunes on the points of pens, - Grunting and growling like beasts in dens, - Whoever did this would regret it forever - For his head would be bagged in a manner most clever. - If they missed a word from a lesson set - Not a scrap of food did the poor things get. - Oh, this was hard for the children! - - A girl was in a sorrowful state - If she pictured her neighbors on the slate, - A book full of problems in Long Division - They made her work out with perfect precision. - If a boy was riotous on the stairs - He spent his recess in a pit full of bears, - Oh, hard it was for the children. - - Laughter and whispering; school-desks scarred - All had penalties just as hard. - Youthful opinions of teachers in verse, - The sentence for these was rather worse. - In short, as you’ll readily comprehend, - Their mischievous wills must break or bend. - Oh, wasn’t it hard for the children! - - If you had but lived in No Man’s Land - Your manners would soon have been taken in hand. - But though you’re saved from the dolorous fate - Of being punished early and late, - It’s just as well to follow the plan - Of being always as good as you can. - Though that’s rather hard for children. - - - - -KAMATU SAN AND ’LIZABETH ANN - - - O Kamatu San, - Afar in Japan, - Oh, a brown little girl is she; - But ’Lizabeth Ann - In west Michigan, - Is as fair as a child can be. - - O Kamatu goes - As gay as a rose, - In satin and silk all day; - Her slippers disclose - Poor ’Lizabeth’s toes - And cotton’s her modest array. - - In Kamatu’s land - A festival grand, - Is held for the dolls in March, - And dances are planned - Where the cherry trees stand, - Or under the cedar and larch. - - In ’Lizabeth’s state, - Though wealthy and great, - No dollie has any such joys. - Ah! ’tis a hard fate - To live at this date, - In a country so careless of toys! - - Yet ’Lizabeth Ann - And Kamatu San, - In loving their dollies agree; - So dolls in Japan, - Or in west Michigan - Can be happy with either, you see. - - - - -THE LITTLE ’PRENTICE LAD - -(_A German Legend_) - - - Long ago, in an old-world town, - ’Mid old-world houses, dusk and brown, - With red-tiled roofs pulled over their eyes, - Half-hiding the shine of the blessed skies, - In a clockmaker’s shop in a crooked street, - Lived a ’prentice lad. There was naught so sweet - In the width of the world as the orphan child, - Flow’r of the Fatherland, Hermann styled. - - Blue shone his eyes through his locks of lint; - White were his cheeks. There was more than a hint - From the gossips who met in the public square, - That Hermann would scarce be so saintly fair - If the clockmaker’s wife would be more free - With her porridge and milk. It was plain to see - He was not half-nourished. Such things were shame - To a rich old town and a shop of name! - - Times there were in that shop of name - When each separate clock in its shining frame - To Hermann’s hearing, the whole of the day, - “So hungry!” “So hungry!” seemed ever to say. - And hours there were in the winter’s chill, - In the dead of the night, when the town was still, - When their bells with resonant clamor tolled, - “Cold! A-cold! Little Hermann is cold!” - - Yet the innocent lad asked never for more - Of the rosy good-wife, with her ample store, - Contented to toil at the clockmaker’s will, - With errand and parcel, to shop and to mill, - If only but once through the crowded day - To the church they would let him to kneel and pray, - To gaze at the sculptured Mother there, - And the dear Babe Jesus, so marble-fair. - - The clock-maker jeered at him. Hermann, the Saint, - He scornfully called him and strangely quaint - And as strangely fitting, the gossips said, - Was the name for the lad of the lint-white head, - “Saint, if I might be!” so Hermann thought, - ’Mid the whisp’ring clocks as he gently wrought, - “Would I had treasure to serve my King, - But only its love has my heart to bring!” - - Christmas Eve in the old-world town, - Snow-white and shining came softly down. - Master and mistress, all gayly bedight, - Leaving the ’prentice to fare as he might, - Sped to the Councillor’s annual feast, - Food being most to them, worship the least, - “Supperless, fireless,” yet thought the lad, - “Still have I ample to make me glad. - - “Now I have no one to say me nay - Straight to the church will I run and pray. - Would I had aught I could take to Him there, - On this Holy Night, to my Christ-child fair!” - Like an angel vision, so white, so sweet, - He was hast’ning on through the snowy street, - When a kindly dame at her apple-stand - Pressed a golden pippin into his hand. - - Happiest soul ’neath the round moon’s light, - The ’prentice lad, on that bitter night. - Here was his gift for the Blessed Child, - A fitting gift, and he softly smiled. - Kneeling down where the candles’ glow - Flushed rosy the marble, he whispered low, - “Loveliest Christ-child, take from me, - The only treasure I have for Thee!” - - Wonder of wonders! The sculptured hand - Slowly unfolded at his command; - Caught was the fruit in a swift embrace, - While a smile shone out on the marble face. - Raptured, adoring, the boy knelt on, - While a whisper stole from the lips of stone,-- - “Little Saint Hermann, to-night with me, - Shalt apples eat from the Heav’nly Tree!” - - * * * * * - - ’Twas dusk of dawn on the Christmas Day, - When the hoary sacristan passed that way, - And glimpsing the statue, stopped, amazed, - Half-doubting the marvel on which he gazed. - The Christ-Child, radiant seemed to stand, - The apple glowed in His marble hand, - And close to His feet, in the morning gray, - Haloed, all-glorious, Hermann lay! - - - - -THE SUNFLOWER’S STORY - - - A sunflower grew by a gray stone wall, - And sighed, as she nodded her head so tall, - “I would I could be - Far over the sea; - I would that I lived in Russia.” - - “My kindred I learn, in that fortunate clime - Grow up to a height that is something sublime; - And the seeds, which to parrots and poultry you fling, - Are there counted sweetmeats and fit for a king. - The smaller seeds straight are dispatched to the mill, - Where an oil is extracted that cooks use with skill, - While the part that remains is pressed out into cakes - And an excellent food for the cattle it makes. - All sunflower products the wise Russians keep; - Yes, even the seed-cups are fed to the sheep. - The tall hollow stalks are well dried in the sun, - Then stored up for fuel and burned every one. - From the ashes the finest potassium’s made, - So they’re carefully sifted and carefully weighed. - Ah, in Russia a sunflower’s value is known, - And she’s treated as well as a queen on her throne! - In Orient countries, it seems that when fired - And mixed with tobacco, our leaves are admired; - While our great yellow flowers are used for a dye - Which they to their garments and hangings apply. - I learned all these matters, I’d have you to know, - From some traveling merchants who, some time ago, - Conversed as they sat on a warm summer-day, - In the shade of the maple just over the way.” - - “Of course, I’m no longer contented at home; - No wonder I’m ardently sighing to roam. - I would I could be - Far over the sea; - I would that I lived in Russia.” - - - - -A BANANA STORY - - - The luscious banana, as every one knows, - Is native of lands where the palm-tree grows, - And if you’re required, and can’t make excuse, - To mention a plant that’s of very great use, - Just give the banana, and prove what you say - By quoting these lines in appropriate way: - - - SONG OF THE BANANA - - When winds are warm first shows my leaf, - And skies of blue are seen; - While tropic suns unroll the sheaf - To waving flags of green. - My trunk’s herbaceous, smooth, and strong, - My honeyed flowers fair; - My yellow fruit in clusters long - Is sweet beyond compare. - ’Tis still delicious, cooked or raw, - Or when to flour ’tis ground; - My leaves are used, instead of straw, - For packing dishes round. - Look closely at their under side, - A store of wax you’ll see; - ’Tis made while here at home I bide, - Not gadding, like the bee. - And listen! Who would ever think, - My juices you might use - To make a kind of marking ink, - And blacking for your shoes! - But that’s not all, the tale is one - In many chapters told; - My stem must o’er its story run, - And all its wealth unfold. - Just feel its texture; hemp is made - Of just this kind of thing, - Twist it for ropes, for matting braid, - Or weave it for the king - In handkerchiefs of finest lace, - That through a ring could pass, - And pattern such as spiders trace - Upon the dewy grass. - I’m the Banana, who but I! - My aid to man I lend; - If wealth you want, for comfort sigh, - Then make of me your friend. - - - - -SONG OF THE CARNAHUBA PALM - - - Brazil is my country, - A palm-tree am I; - Just go with me thither, - Your wants I’ll supply. - Should you wish for a shelter, - I’ll build you a gem; - The joists and the rafters - Shaped out of my stem. - - My leaves, broad and pliant, - Will thatch you a roof, - And under its cover - You’ll sit weather-proof. - You need not go hungry, - I’ll yield milk and flour, - The sweetest of sugar, - And vinegar sour. - Good starch I can furnish - And finest of wine. - Just cork up the bottles - With this pith of mine! - - If salt you require, - Or wish to make soap, - The one I can serve you, - Quite fit for the Pope, - And alkali furnish - To make up the other; - There’ll be no hard labor, - No smoke and no smother. - My leaves you’ll dispose of - To make brooms and mats, - The strongest of baskets - And very best hats. - - My roots distill medicine. - Should you fall ill, - ’Twill cure many ailments - And save a long bill. - And there is my fruit - In which cattle delight; - Its pulp is agreeable, - ’Tis fair to the sight; - Its rich, oily kernel - A beverage makes, - Delicious for breakfast - With feathery cakes. - - My story’s not ended; - My stem, light and strong, - Has uses which have not - Appeared in my song. - If a pump you would like, - If a tube you desire, - To bring in the water, - Or put out a fire; - If a flute you would fashion - To banish dull care, - There’s naught in the world - With my stem can compare! - - - - -LITTLE DORRIT’S PLAYGROUND - -(_A new public park called “Little Dorrit’s Playground” has just been -opened in London, on the site of the old Marshalsea Prison, made famous -by Dickens_) - - - In a gloomy prison chamber - Far away in London town, - Once was born a little baby - As the night came darkly down. - - Frowning walls and iron doorways - Hemmed her in from day to day; - In a jail-yard, barred and stony, - There alone her feet might stray. - - Nothing knew she of the country, - Singing birds and waving trees; - Roofs and chimney-pots her forest, - Songsters,--creak of rusty keys. - - Yet the baby, weak and fragile, - Nursed upon a prisoner’s knee, - Grew a maiden, loving, helpful, - Of a spirit brave and free. - - Father, brother, wayward sister, - All upon her strength might rest, - And her own woes, light or heavy, - Close she hid within her breast. - - Ragged children hung upon her, - Weak and helpless ones she fed, - She,--a child who knew no childhood,-- - She herself, who lacked for bread. - - Gentle, patient “Little Dorrit,” - Sweet thy name will ever be; - Sweet it breathes as scent of flowers, - Daughter of the Marshalsea! - - Fallen is that gloomy prison - Where thy life-work was begun; - In its place is set a playground - Free and open, bright with sun, - - Named for thee. Ah, “Little Dorrit,” - As they walk its grassy ways, - Bend and hear them, London’s children,-- - Hear them singing in thy praise. - - - - -THE THREAD-AND-NEEDLE TREE - - -I - - Gladys Mehitable Arabelle Jane - Could never be taught to sew! - A table they gave her, exact to her size, - With drawers and with fittings a princess might prize. - Such needles she owned in a glittering line; - Such thread and such silk, both the coarse and the fine; - The daintiest scissors that ever were seen, - A wee golden thimble, a gem for a queen; - But, spite of these charming and housewifely things - And a pink brocade work-bag with blue satin strings, - She could not be _made_ to sew! - - -II - - Gladys Mehitable Arabelle Jane - Could never be taught to sew! - Her mother’s instruction she viewed with disdain; - Her grandmother’s teaching was given in vain. - Her needles she’d break and her thread she would lose, - Her thimble she’d hide in the tops of her shoes, - She’d tear a fine handkerchief given to make, - Her sampler she’d throw to the puppy to shake; - And then she would cry, and she’d fret, and she’d scold, - And vow if she lived to be ninety years old - She _never_ would learn to sew! - - -III - - Gladys Mehitable Arabelle Jane, - Who never would learn to sew-- - Oh, a terrible thing befell the child! - She was sent to live in a desert wild, - By her godmother fay, who was heard to swear - She’d reform the chit or she’d leave her there! - ’Twas a Mexican desert where Arabelle went, - And shelter she had none, not even a tent. - Her task was to gather her teardrops and soak - The Needle-and-Thread Tree! Dear me, what a joke - On a child who so “_hated_” to sew! - - -IV - - Gladys Mehitable Arabelle Jane, - Who never would learn to sew, - Draws her needles now from a cactus leaf, - And her thread unwinds from a prickly sheaf! - She does it with care, and they’ve taught her to sing, - “Oh, ’tis sewing I love above everything!” - Her needles are thorns and they’re shining and long, - Her thread is a fiber and marvelous strong: - And all day long on the desert sands - She mournfully chants o’er her gussets and bands-- - This Gladys who never would sew! - - -V - - Gladys Mehitable Arabelle Jane, - Who never would learn to sew, - Tends the Needle Tree in the desert drear, - But her other tasks not so sweet appear. - She mends the crown of the fat horned toad; - The lizard’s tail, if it snaps in the road; - The scorpion’s claws she bastes on tight, - And the spider’s webs she darns by night. - She’s the tailor for snake and for bumblebee. - Oh, ever, eternally busy is she, - This Gladys who “_hated_” to sew! - - - - -PEDDLING POETRY - - - There was once a lad, but I’ll not disclose - His Christian or surname, who early rose - To fame and to honor and gained renown - For his native place, which was Boston town, - By his wit, his wisdom, his gifted pen - And the priceless inventions he gave to men. - Fifteenth bud on the parent tree, - Brothers and sisters to spare had he. - His father, a maker of candles and soap, - His brother, a printer,--I think I may hope - That the name of the lad can be quickly told - By every American, young or old. - The boy was a reader and day and night - He studied by fire and candle-light, - In yellowing books that he scarce could hold - Romances and stories of heroes bold. - His brain was a field where gallants dared, - Where war-steeds trampled and heroes fared. - Now out of these visions he strove to frame, - In musical verse that should bear his name - Weird tales of adventure on sea and land; - Of Blackbeard bold and his pirate band, - Of haunted houses and dungeons deep,-- - Such things as would make your flesh to creep! - The elder brother struck off the verse,-- - “_The Lighthouse Terror_,” “_The Pirate’s Curse_,” - From his printing-presses and up and down - Through the paths and pastures of Boston town, - The proud little poet pursued his way, - Crying “Verses! Who’ll buy any verse to-day?” - The jingles were purchased both far and near - Till the noise of them came to the father’s ear, - And reading them all, ’twixt a smile and a frown, - He said with his spectacles twinkling down - On the reddening cheek of his fifteenth hope, - “As a cure for your ailment, we’ll try Doctor Pope, - For he who has once tasted Pope and admired - His elegant verses hath never desired - To take up the art for himself, unless he - A similar master of English can be.” - Thus spoke the wise father and gave to the lad - The dose he thought fitting for verse that was bad. - The cure was effective and never again - Did the lad scribble verse with his eloquent pen. - He grew to be famous, America’s pride; - A nation mourned over his grave when he died. - Now who was this statesman of great renown - Who peddled his verses in Boston town? - - - - -THE LITTLE ARTIST - -(_From the German of Froebel_) - - - Come, little one, quite close to me, - Lean softly here against my knee, - And you and I will draw to-day - The pretty things you see at play. - We’ll make the bird with glancing wings, - As high above the hill she sings; - We’ll make the plum-tree and the nest - Where all her bright-eyed birdlings rest. - Now draw a scampering, silky mouse, - And in the corner here, a house. - We’ll make the staircase built within, - The windows where the sun shines in; - We’ll roof the house with crimson tiles - And draw in front tall trees in files. - We’ll make the mirrors on its walls, - The tables laid for festivals, - And everything within shall be, - My little one, for you and me. - Now sketch the bridge where children go - Across the brook that winds below; - Next try to make a ladder long, - And mother’s scissors sharp and strong. - Now let me guide your hand, my dear, - And we will make a dovecote here, - The farmer’s doves all flutt’ring round, - The chickens and the worm they’ve found, - The rabbits in their cozy hutch, - The saw the farmer needs so much, - His harrow and his shining plow, - His cart with hay for mooly-cow, - The axle, spoke, and tire, and wheel, - His water-jug for noon-day meal. - Now let us draw the great, round sun, - The stars that shine when bedtime’s come, - And then the eye that sees their light, - Bright-beaming in the sky of night; - A thousand, thousand stars like these - We see when snow hides grass and trees. - Next we will make the baby moon - And then the sphere she’ll be so soon; - Now last of all the great church door, - And then the drawing lesson’s o’er. - These pictures, dear, may not last long, - But practice makes the fingers strong; - And as the world without they show, - The world within will clearer grow. - - - - -THE FEAST OF THE DOLL - - - In flow’ry Japan, the home of the fan, - The land of the parasol, - Each month has its feast, from greatest to least, - And March is the Feast of the Doll-doll-doll, - And March is the Feast of the Doll. - - The wee, slippered maid in gown of brocade, - The baby with shaven poll, - The little brown lad in embroidery clad, - All troop to the Feast of the Doll-doll-doll, - All troop to the Feast of the Doll. - - How pleasant ’twould be, ’neath an almond-tree, - In sunshine and perfume to loll, - Forget our own spring, with its wind and its sting, - And sing to the praise of the Doll-doll-doll, - And sing to the praise of the Doll! - - Come, sweet Tippytoes, as pink as a rose, - And white as a cotton-boll, - Let us follow the plan of the folk in Japan, - And dance for your Feast, little Doll-doll-doll, - And dance for your Feast, little Doll. - -[Illustration] - - - - -THE FEAST OF ARMS - - - R-r-r-at-tat-tat! R-r-r-at-tat-tat! - The sound makes your heart go pit-a-pat. - The drums are beating, the flag’s unfurled - And shakes its folds at the great round world. - A warrior brave goes marching by, - With a sleek black head, held straight and high, - With a smooth brown cheek and an almond eye - And a gown that glows like a butterfly. - Hurrah! Hurrah! Banzai!! - - Dr-r-um-tum-tum! Dr-r-um-tum-tum! - Like a hive of bees is the muttered hum, - ’Tis the Feast of Arms in a Japanese Town, - And the envious Sun sees, looking down, - A warrior brave go marching by, - With a sleek black head, held straight and high, - With a smooth brown cheek and an almond eye - And a gown that glows like a butterfly. - Hurrah! Hurrah! Banzai!! - - Tr-r-ap-tap-tap! Tr-r-ap-tap-tap! - The drumsticks rattle, the fingers snap. - For a thousand years has the Japanese lad - On the Fifth of May been in armor clad; - So a warrior brave goes marching by, - With a sleek black head, held straight and high, - With a smooth brown cheek and an almond eye - And a gown that glows like a butterfly. - Hurrah! Hurrah! Banzai!! - - Tr-r-ump-tump-tump! Tr-r-ump-tump-tump! - From field and lane sounds the distant thump-- - A golden carp is his ensign bold - And he wears his sword like a knight of old. - Oh, warrior brave, go marching by, - With your sleek black head, held straight and high, - With your smooth brown cheek and your almond eye - And your gown that glows like a butterfly. - Hurrah! Hurrah! Banzai!! - - - - -THE FEAST OF LAUGHTER - - - ’Tis the very first “day of the hare” - In Wasa, the province of Kishu, - And the breezes that sweep through the town - Depart all a-ripple with laughter-- - With light-hearted, musical laughter. - - The month is the tenth in Japan, - In Wasa, the province of Kishu, - And the leaves of the bamboo are stirred, - And the sugar-cane trembles with laughter-- - With rustle and tinkle of laughter. - - The brown baby smiles in his sleep, - In Wasa, the province of Kishu; - While the fathers ha-ha at their work, - The mothers’ lips bubble with laughter-- - With honey-sweet, mellow-toned laughter. - - Shall I tell you why mirth is abroad - In Wasa, the province of Kishu? - Why the owls in the deep, gloomy shade, - And the toad in his hole, shake with laughter-- - With silver-shrill, jubilant laughter? - - * * * * * - - Listen all who listen can, - And hear this tale of old Japan! - Ages ago the thing befell, - But people still the story tell. - - * * * * * - - ’Twas in the misty long-ago, - Ere yet this gray old earth - Had grown too staid and sober - To indulge o’ermuch in mirth. - To the sacred shrines of Isè, - Where Izumo’s walls appear - Purple-clad, the gods assembled - In the tenth month every year. - All affairs of love and wedlock - In the whole land of Japan - There were mooted, there were settled, - On a wise celestial plan. - - At the first one of these meetings, - Having half forgot the date, - When the grand debate was over - Certain gods arrived too late! - Sympathy nor pity gave they-- - Brother gods in parliament-- - Ridiculed the tardy comers, - Every one on laughing bent. - - Since that time in all the district, - On the “first day of the hare,” - Ancient men and toddling children - Unto Isè’s shrines repair. - Journey ended, all the graybeards - Face the curious, wond’ring throng: - “Laugh, ye bright-eyes! Laugh, ye sweet-lips! - Laugh and jest the whole day long!” - Ready smiles break out in answer - On each satin, dusky cheek; - Hands are clapping, feet are dancing, - Dimples playing hide-and-seek. - - Laughing hear the feathered people, - Laughs the sun as he looks down, - And, the sweet contagion spreading, - Laughter rings through all the town. - - - - -THE DOLL’S CALENDAR[9] - - -JANUARY - - Was ever a doll like my Dolladine, - The charmingest dolly that ever was seen! - Eyes as blue as the sky at noon, - Hair as bright as the summer moon, - Dolladine, my dear! - - She came to me in December last; - To the Christmas-tree they had bound her fast; - My heart beat high when I saw her face, - And I squeezed her tight, thro’ her silk and lace, - Dolladine, my dear! - - I’m the thoughtfullest mother that ever was known; - I’d scorn to leave Dolladine, darling, alone; - Each month of the twelve I invent her a play, - And I give her a flower to wear every day, - Dolladine, my dear! - - On the very first day of the year just begun, - I wove her some snow-shoes, and when they were done, - A fine sled I made her, to slide at her will, - To skim o’er the valley and whiz down the hill, - Dolladine, my dear! - - Fresh blossoms in winter come just a bit high, - And there aren’t any flower-shops very near by; - So my pet wears a garland of fir and of pine, - And under the green how her starry eyes shine! - Dolladine, my dear, my sweet! - Dolladine, my own! - - -FEBRUARY - - February, dark and chilly, - Comes with dripping rain, - Noon of day and midnight stilly, - Tapping on the pane. - - Dolladine is growing older, - Precious doll of mine; - And to-day my love I’ve told her, - In a valentine. - - Cherry blossoms she is wearing, - Sent her from the west. - Tell me, can you, why she’s bearing - These upon her breast? - - -MARCH - - Pussy with the silver fur; - Willow, pussy willow! - Dollie wants to hear you purr; - Willow, pussy willow! - - Kites are sailing in the sky; - Willow, pussy willow! - Wind is tossing branches high; - Willow, pussy willow! - - March has come, ’tis time to blow; - Willow, pussy willow! - All your glossy kits to show; - Willow, pussy willow! - - -APRIL - - A rain-pool lies just over the way, - And on it a fairy boat; - And there, in her craft of the birchen bark - My dollie’s a sailor afloat. - - Row, row, Dolladine, now! - April is steering and Spring’s at the bow. - - With Dandelions the prow is decked, - All gay on the rain-pool sea, - And a chain I’ve made of their shining stems, - To draw Dollie back to me. - - Row, row, pretty one, now! - April is steering and Spring’s at the bow. - - -MAY - - May is coming, listen! hark! - Flowers growing dawn and dark. - Dollie’s playing in the grass, - Bees about her humming pass; - Lilacs in her yellow hair, - Breath of lilacs everywhere. - Let us set a May-pole here, - Where the daisy buds appear; - Let us garland it about, - Weave with blossoms in and out. - Then I’ll wreathe a flow’ry crown, - Make a regal robe and gown. - Who of May shall be the queen? - Who but precious Dolladine! - - -JUNE - - Dollie and I in the sweet June weather, - A rose of June in her hair. - Dollie and I in the swing together; - Oh, the rush of the swing in the air! - - Strawberries ripening down in the meadow, - A strawberry is her mouth. - Buttercups swaying in sun and shadow; - Oh, soft is the wind of the south! - - If but June weather might last forever, - Warm as the heart of my dear, - And birds and blossoms, in sweet endeavor, - Might grow side by side for a year! - - -JULY - - The poppy glows in the garden bed, - For it is July. - The poppy’s drooping her drowsy head, - For it is July. - Blue sky, flags high, - Hot July. - - The poppy’s the only one to sleep, - For it is July. - The world is too noisy for slumber deep, - For it is July. - Blue sky, flags high, - Gay July. - - Dolladine’s wearing a Liberty cap, - For it is July. - She’ll march when she hears the drummer’s tap, - For it is July. - Blue sky, flags high, - Our July. - - -AUGUST - - It really makes me very sad - To tell the illness dollie’s had. - The causes were not wholly plain, - But remedies were all in vain; - And doctors said that she must go - Down where the ocean breezes blow. - - At home the lilies are in bloom, - Here sea-winds give the sole perfume. - And Dolladine is growing brown - As dry leaves when they flutter down. - Gone are her ills, forgotten quite. - Deep in the sand they hide from sight. - - I’ve made of her a mermaid fair. - A veil of sea-weed shrouds her hair. - A rope of sea-shells decks her gown, - Low falling, all her drapery down. - In the whole world of waters green, - There’s naught so fair as Dolladine. - - -SEPTEMBER - - Do you know of a fairy maiden, - All in the olden time, - Who rode in a pumpkin carriage, - Like a Christmas pantomime? - Such a Cinder-maid is dollie, - Such a pumpkin coach has she, - And she’s off to the royal palace, - The prince himself to see. - - Jack-o-Lanterns light the ball, - ’Tis a night entrancing. - Golden-rod bedecks the hall, - Crickets play for dancing. - - No crystal shoe has dollie, - But her foot is like a fay’s, - And of all the folk at the party, - None can better tread the maze. - She’ll return ere the hour of midnight, - Her godmamma to see, - The fairy who built her carriage; - Can you guess who this may be? - - Jack-o-Lanterns light the ball, - ’Tis a night entrancing. - Golden-rod bedecks the hall, - Crickets play for dancing. - - -OCTOBER - - Autumn’s coming o’er the hill - Treading fast and faster. - Soon his foot will cross the sill, - Autumn’s coming o’er the hill. - Where the summer lingers still, - Blooms the purple aster. - Autumn’s coming o’er the hill, - Treading fast and faster. - - Through the rustling leaves she goes, - Dolladine, my dollie. - Summer’s lent her cheek a rose, - Through the rustling leaves she goes. - Down the frosty wind there blows - Autumn’s laughter jolly; - Through the rustling leaves she goes, - Dolladine, my dollie. - - -NOVEMBER - - The Indian chieftain smokes his pipe, - The hills with haze are murky. - And yonder struts, with spreading tail, - The grand Thanksgiving turkey. - - Oh ho! Oh ho! how happy we’ll be, - When the cousins come to dollie and me! - - Dollie shall wear a cranberry chain, - And her very best new bonnet; - The one with a buckle, a puff and a bow, - And a curly feather on it. - - Oh ho! Oh ho! how happy we’ll be, - When the cousins come to dollie and me! - - The house is ready, the fires blaze, - We fear not cold November. - By the hearth we’ll sit and stories tell, - And good old times remember. - - Oh ho! Oh ho! how happy we’ll be, - When the cousins come to dollie and me! - - -DECEMBER - - It is the eve of Christmas Day, - And thick and fast it’s snowing. - With dollie cuddled in my lap, - I watch the white flakes blowing. - Long, long ago I bought her gift, - A holly wreath I’ve made her, - And I shall hang her stocking up - When safe in bed I’ve laid her. - Dear Santa Claus, whate’er you bring, - Of all your Christmas blisses, - You ne’er can bring to me again - So sweet a doll as this is. - My lamb she is, my dear delight, - My darling and my treasure; - Of all the joys the year has brought, - The very chiefest pleasure. - - -THE END - - -FOOTNOTE - -[9] Published by G. Schirmer, with music by Isadore Luckstone. - - - - - The Riverside Press - CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS - U . S . A - - - - -Transcriber’s Notes - - - • Italics represented with surrounding _underscores_. - - • Small caps converted to ALL CAPS. - - • Obvious typographic errors silently corrected. - - • Variations in hyphenation kept as in the original. - - • Footnotes renumbered consecutively and moved to the ends of their - respective chapters. -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77767 *** diff --git a/images/cover.jpg b/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 04ce955..0000000 --- a/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/images/facing008.jpg b/images/facing008.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 5f453d0..0000000 --- a/images/facing008.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/images/facing024.jpg b/images/facing024.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 12acd9f..0000000 --- a/images/facing024.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/images/facing048.jpg b/images/facing048.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index f7b93ba..0000000 --- a/images/facing048.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/images/facing068.jpg b/images/facing068.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 628044d..0000000 --- a/images/facing068.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/images/facing084.jpg b/images/facing084.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index b619698..0000000 --- a/images/facing084.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/images/facing110.jpg b/images/facing110.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index c9a5c84..0000000 --- a/images/facing110.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/images/facing138.jpg b/images/facing138.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index c428dd9..0000000 --- a/images/facing138.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/images/frontis.jpg b/images/frontis.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 7d523bc..0000000 --- a/images/frontis.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/images/titlepage.jpg b/images/titlepage.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index b672556..0000000 --- a/images/titlepage.jpg +++ /dev/null |
