"Oh, dear Mamma, that little girl
Forgets this is the day
When children should be clean and neat,
And read and learn and pray!
Her face is dirty and her frock,
Holes in her stockings, see;
Her hair is such a fright, oh, dear!
How wicked she must be!
She's playing in the kennel dirt
With ragged girls and boys;
But I would not on Sunday touch
My clean and pretty toys.
I go to church, and sit so still,
I in the garden walk,
Or take my stool beside the fire,
And hear nice Sunday talk.
I read my bible, learn my hymns,
My catechism say;
That wicked little girl does not--
She only cares to play."
"Ah! hush that boasting tone, my love,
Repress self-glorying pride;
You can do nothing of yourself--
Friends all your actions guide."