MOTHER.
Come, Willie, and tell me, my dear,
What made you so foolish, last night;
I am waiting this morning to hear
The cause of your terrible fright.
WILLIE.
Biddie said that a wolf would come out
And catch me if I was not good;
That is what I was thinking about
When I screamed just as loud as I could.
MOTHER.
And where would a wolf come from, pray;
Biddy could not find one, should she try.
’T was a wicked thing for her to say,--
She knew she was telling a lie.
Examine your chamber, my dear;
Look carefully round before night,
And if you can find a wolf here,
I will certainly leave you a light.
WILLIE.
Mamma, you are laughing at me,
There’s no wolf anywhere to be found;
I know there is nothing to see
If I take all the day to look round.
MOTHER.
Then I hope you will not be afraid;
Now tell me, my son, if you’re able,
Of what mamma’s candles are made,
You see one stand there on the table.
WILLIE.
Of tallow and cotton, mamma;
The candles are run in a mould.
I went up one day with papa
To the factory where they are sold.
MOTHER.
Can tallow and cotton, my son,
Protect you from harm thro’ the night,
When into a mould it is run,
And made in a candle to light?
WILLIE.
The candle could not see or hear,
And I’ll try to remember to-night,
That God my kind Father is near,
Then, mamma, I’ll not ask for a light.
“CREATE IN ME A CLEAN HEART,
O GOD!”
Savior, keep me near thy side,
Take my hand within thine own,
I would be thy little child,
Leave me not to walk alone.
“Suffer little ones to come,”
Thou didst say, when here on earth;
Let my feet no longer roam,
I would know thy heavenly birth.
Take my wicked heart away,
Make me holy like thy Son;
Leave me not from thee to stray,
Leave me not to walk alone.
[Illustration] THE HELEN MARIA.
With sails all set
To catch the breeze,
This noble ship
Now ploughs the seas.
May God in safety
Kindly keep
Our loved ones while
Upon the deep!
THE YOUTHFUL KING.
How much God’s holy Book was prized
By King Josiah in his youth!
At eight years old his reign began,
When no one served the Lord in truth.
His ancestors were wicked men,
And walked not in God’s holy ways,
But filled Jerusalem with sin,
And worshipped idols all their days.
The youthful king desired to know
How to avoid the ways of sin;
He wished to live as David did,
And have his heart made pure within.
Go to the Book of Kings, and learn
What joy he felt when Shaphan brought
From God’s high priest his holy law,
And how he had his people taught
That precious Book to understand,
And take it for their daily guide;
To love the Lord with all their hearts,
And serve no other gods beside.
Make thou that precious Book, O Lord,
A light to guide _me_ all the way;
May it direct my steps at night,
And safely lead me through the day.
I love to read those precious words,
Sweet truths I meet on every page;
Oh, may they be my hope in youth,
And my support in hoary age.
THE LITTLE BOY’S REQUEST.
Sent to the Fulton Street Prayer Meeting in the summer of 1858.
I am a little boy of twelve, and always tell the truth;
O pray for me, that I may love the Savior in my youth.
Thus from the sunny South that precious message came
To those who meet in Fulton street to pray in Jesus’ name.
Dear little boy in Georgia, oh write once more, and say
That you “stand up for Jesus,” that you have found the way,--
The narrow way that leads to Heaven; then we once more in prayer
Will thank our heavenly Father, who hath sweetly brought you there.
THE INFANT SAVIOR.
CHILD.
Mamma, ’tis strange that God most high
Could come to earth to live and die;
’Tis wonderful that he could be
Just such a little child as me!
That he should need a mother’s care,
For food to eat and clothes to wear;--
How did the Virgin Mary know
That he was Lord of all below?
MOTHER.
His coming, Lillie, was foretold
By many holy men of old,
And angels had been sent to tell
That this dear child she loved so well
Should be her Savior, Christ the Lord,
And she believed his precious Word;
Mary oft pondered in her heart
Those things the angels did impart.
CHILD.
How could they be so very poor,
When Christ was Lord of all? I’m sure,
I should have thought that he would come
To live in some delightful home.
He could have had the sweetest spot
In all the world,--why did he not?
Why did the infant Savior lie
In a poor stable? Tell me why
He did not have a home like ours,
With a nice garden, full of flowers
And trees, where lovely birds should sing,
To cheer the infant Savior King?
MOTHER.
When Jesus came to save our race,
He meant to show such wondrous grace,
That rich and poor alike might see
He condescends their Friend to be.
The poorest child may never fear
To pour its wants into his ear,
For Jesus, though a king above,
Looks down with sympathy and love.
He knows exactly what we need,
And he will be our Friend indeed,
Will kindly listen to our prayer,
And all our little sorrows share.
THE TWO COUSINS.
Two wee-bit cousins went out to ride,
Their carriages rolling side by side;
The air was not damp, or chilly, or raw,
But as bright a day as ever you saw.
Two prettier babies one seldom sees;
Nurse often was stopped with remarks like these:
“What beautiful children! Whose can they be?
Do stop those nurses and let us see!”
The beauty of each the ladies compare:
“This one is so lovely! do see how fair
Her little round face, so plump and sweet!
I must kiss the child though it is in the street.”
“No,--her little cousin is prettier far;
I like a brunette; she will be a bright star.”
The nurses move on, well pleased, I fear,
Such flattering remarks from the ladies to hear.
Had they seen these children in Water street,
In ragged garments and naked feet,
They would not have stopped them on the way,
And flattered them so, I think, to-day.
[Illustration]
What a sight
They descry
When Trenton Falls
Meet their eye!
[Illustration] PRECIOUS BIBLE.
How many nations
Ne’er have heard
The precious truths
Of God’s own Word;
That the dear Savior
Came to die,
That we might dwell
With him on high.
If you had never
Heard of God,
Nor ever read
His Holy Word,
How very thankful
You would be,
A copy of God’s
Book to see!
Then, save your pennies,
Children dear,
That all, these precious
Truths may hear.
THE SACRIFICE.
How hard it was for Abraham
To say, God’s will be done,
When he was called to offer up
His dear,--his only son.
“Take Isaac, now, thine only son,”
(This was the Lord’s command,)
“And offer him a sacrifice,
To die by thine own hand.”
But Abraham believed that God,
His Father, always knew
Just what was right, and could not tell
Him a wrong thing to do.
He did not stop to question God,
But rose at early dawn,
Saddled his ass, and called his son,
To go that very morn
A three days journey to a spot
Which God to them would show;
And Isaac, with the two young men,
At once prepared to go.
At length the Mount appeared in sight,
And Abraham told his men,
“I yonder go to worship God,
And will come back again.”
Much Isaac wondered what it meant,
But he obeyed his sire,
And took the wood upon his arms,
To build his funeral pyre.
Upon the mountain now they stand,
And Isaac meekly cries,
“Behold the fire and wood! but where’s
The lamb for sacrifice?”
When they had reached Moriah’s top,
The father told his son,--
And Isaac willingly was bound,
That God’s will might be done.
Upon the altar, then, the wood
Was all in order laid,
And Abraham took the knife in hand,--
That knife with naked blade.
Then quick an angel of the Lord
Was sent from heaven above,
To gladden faithful Abraham’s heart
With these sweet words of love.
“Lay not thy hand upon the lad,
For now, indeed, I see
Thou fearest God, nor hast withheld
Thine only son from me.
“And now in blessing I will bless
Thee and thy numerous seed;
All those who have thy simple faith
Shall be my friends[5] indeed.
“When I shall give mine only Son
To die on Calvary,
The Lamb of God for sinners slain,
Thine offspring he shall be.”
And has “Our Father” sent his Son,
His only Son, from heaven
To die for us that we might live
And have our sins forgiven?
Lord, help me, then, to read thy Word,
Believing all it saith;
For I may be a friend of God,
If I have Abraham’s faith.
“REMEMBER THE SABBATH DAY,
TO KEEP IT HOLY.”
I love the Sabbath day,
Of all the days the best;
Thy sacred hours are sweet to me,
Oh, day of holy rest!
I love the Sabbath bell,
It says, “Do not delay;
Hasten, dear children, from your homes;
Come, worship God to-day.
I love the Sabbath School;
Oft, as I take my seat,
I pray that early I may learn
To sit at Jesus’ feet.
Oh, blessed Sabbath day,
Thou best of all the seven;
Thy precious hours I would improve,
To fit my soul for heaven!
[Illustration]
CHARLIE AND HIS YOUTHFUL
TEACHER.
“Come, now, my dear boy, confess what you’ve done,
To your loving, kind Father on high;
You cannot conceal from the All-seeing One
The fact that you’re telling a lie.”
So said the young teacher of Birmingham school,
To Charlie, when no one was nigh;
She grieved that her pupil had broken a rule,
Still more that he’d told her a lie.
His face, once so joyous, was then very sad,
His heart was too full to reply,
As Miss Mary pressed home on the dear little lad
The fact of his telling a lie.
“Oh come, now in penitence tell me, dear boy,
The whole truth, and then we will try
And ask the dear Savior his grace to employ,
To guard you from telling a lie.”
But, though the child wore a sad look of distress,
No penitent tear dimm’d his eye;
All arguments failed;--Charlie would not confess
That he had been telling a lie.
The teacher stood there, with her heart raised in prayer
To One whom she felt ever nigh;
Oh how could she bear that her pupil should dare
To grieve him by telling a lie.
“Dear Father, I know not what course to pursue;
Oh guide me,” she said, with a sigh;
“I am young and too helpless to know what to do
With a child who is telling a lie.
“Leave not this dear child to perish, I pray,
Oh listen, and hear my sad cry!
What more can I say? I must send him away,
He will not repent of this lie.”
A change soon was wrought, when Miss Mary was taught
By God, her kind Father on high,
That his Word must be brought, and thence must be sought
His threatenings to those who will lie.
Charlie reads of the joys of the ransomed above,
And learns that this home in the sky
Forever is closed by our Father in love,
From those who on earth learn to lie.
To that Heavenly City, so good and so fair,
The Lamb will a welcome deny,
And no little child can e’er hope to go there,
“Who loveth and maketh a lie.”[6]
The Bible has conquered! The teacher with joy
Sees that tears are now filling his eye,
She kneels and implores for her penitent boy
Forgiveness for telling a lie.
THE SAILOR AND THE MONKEYS.
Once, in the hope of honest gain
From Afric’s golden store,
A brisk young sailor cross’d the main,
And landed on her shore.
And leaving soon the sultry strand,
Where his fair vessel lay,
He travell’d o’er the neighboring land,
To trade in peaceful way.
Full many a toy had he to sell,
And caps of scarlet dye,
All such things as he knew full well,
Would please the native’s eye.
But as he travell’d through the woods,
He longed to take a nap,
And opening there his pack of goods,
Took out a scarlet cap,
And drew it on his head, thereby
To shield him from the sun,
Then soundly slept, nor thought an eye
Had seen what he had done.
But many a monkey dwelling there,
Though hidden from his view,
Had closely watched the whole affair,
And longed to do so too.
And while he slept did each one seize
A cap to deck his brows,
Then climbing up the highest trees,
Sat chattering on the boughs.
The sailor wak’d, his caps were gone,
And loud and long he grieves,
Till, looking up with heart forlorn,
He spied at once the thieves.
With cap of red upon each head,
Full fifty faces grim,
The sailor sees amid the trees,
With eyes all fixed on him.
He brandish’d quick a mighty stick,
But could not reach their bower,
Nor yet could stone, for every one
Was far beyond his power.
Alas! he thought, I’ve safely brought
My caps far over seas,
But could not guess it was to dress
Such little rogues as these.
Then quickly down he threw his own,
And loud in anger cried,
“Take this one too, you thievish crew,
Since you have all beside.”
But, quick as thought the caps were caught
From every monkey’s crown,
And, like himself, each little elf
Threw his directly down.
He then with ease did gather these,
And in his pack did bind,
Then through the woods convey’d his goods
And sold them to his mind.
[Illustration] THE MORNING WALK.
The sun is up, the air is clear,
The flowers are blooming all around,
The dew-drops glitter on the grass,
And pretty daisies deck the ground.
How sweet it is to go abroad,
And breathe this lovely morning air,
So fragrant with perfume of flowers,
While everything seems fresh and fair.
The busy insects flitting round,
The warbling birds on every tree,
Each blade of grass, each opening flower,
All seem to speak, great God, of thee.
Dear Father, thou hast kindly kept
Thy child from danger all the night,
And now, my heart is filled with joy,
As I behold the morning light.
And I would speak of all thy love;
Oh, fill my heart with grateful praise,
And may I for these bounteous gifts,
Both love and serve thee all my days.
STRAWBERRY GIRL.
EMILY.
Mamma, do hear Eliza cry!
She wants a piece of cake, I know,
She will not stir to school without;
Do give her some, and let her go.
MOTHER.
Oh no, my dear, that will not do,
She has behaved extremely ill;
She does not think of minding me,
And tries to gain her stubborn will.
This morning, when she had her milk,
She gave her spoon a sudden twirl
And threw it all upon the floor;
Oh, she’s a naughty, wicked girl!
And now, forsooth, she cries for cake,
But that, my dear, I must refuse,
For children never should object
To eating what their parents choose.
That pretty little girl who came
To sell the strawberries here to-day,
Would have been very glad to eat
What my Eliza threw away;
Because her parents are so poor
That they have neither milk nor meat,
But gruel and some Indian cake
Is all the children have to eat.
They have beside three little girls,--
Mary’s the oldest of them all,--
And hard enough she has to work
To help the rest, though she’s so small.
As soon as strawberries are ripe,
She picks all day and will not stop
To play, nor eat a single one
Till she has filled her basket up.
Then down she comes to sell them all,
And lays the money up to buy
Her stockings and her shoes to wear
When cold and wintry storms are nigh.
Then Mary has to trudge away,
And gather wood thro’ piles of snow,
To keep the little children warm,
When the frost bites and cold winds blow.
Oh, then, as she comes home at night,
Hungry and tired, with cold benumb’d,
How would she jump to find a bowl
Of bread and milk all nicely crumb’d.
But she, dear child, has no such thing;
Of gruel and some Indian cake,
Whether she chooses it or not,
Poor Mary must her supper make.
And now, my child, will you behave
So ill again another day,
Be cross, and pout, and cry for cake,
And throw your breakfast all away?
ELIZA.
Oh never, never, dear mamma,
I’m sorry that I gave you pain;
Forgive me, and I never will
Be such a naughty girl again.
[Illustration] ENVY.
MELINDA.
I wish I had a coach, mamma;
O, how I should delight to ride,
Like Jennie Wright, where’er I pleased,
And have a servant at my side.
The other day, as Ann and I
Were walking down the meadow lane,
With John and Mary Anna Smith,
Who should go by but little Jane!
The man drove slow, that Miss might view
The charming prospect all around;
How proud she felt that she could ride,
While we were walking on the ground!
We all ran off and left the coach,
But while we gathered flowers for you,
Mamma, the servant followed us,
For Miss must have some daisies too.
She seemed resolved to let us know
That she could have just what she pleased,
Then the new coach whirled off, and so
I really hope her mind was eased.
What was it, ma, that vexed me so
And spoiled the pleasure of the day?
I should have had a charming walk
If that old coach had kept away.
MOTHER.
’Twas envy, child, an odious sin,
That springs from ignorance and pride;
You grieved to see another taste
Enjoyments to yourself denied.
That little Miss you envied so
Lived six long months in constant pain,
Then the disorder seized her feet,
And she will never walk again.
I chanced to be at Mr. Wright’s
That very day, when Jane came home;
Her brother took her in his arms,
And brought her sobbing to the room.
Her mother tenderly enquired
What made her weep. “Alas!” she cried,
“Why, mother, will you urge your child
To seek for pleasure in a ride?
“At first, I looked with some delight
On the sweet fields so green and gay,
When happy children passed along,
As merry as the birds in May.
“They laughed, they jumped, they climbed the hedge,
For flowers their pretty wreaths to twine,
And then they wandered through the fields,
To gather blackberries from the vine.
“I wept, that with such joyous sports
I never more could take a part;
Kind Peter saw how sad I felt,
And tried to cheer my heavy heart.
“He brought me berries from the vine,
He gathered daisies nice and sweet;
But on the flowers I could not look,
The blackberries I could not eat.
“Oh, turn, I said, and drive me home,
Each object gives my heart a pain,
And let me in my chamber hide,
And never see a coach again.”
Now, dear Melinda, do you wish
That you was Jennie Wright, to ride
In a new coach whene’er you please,
And have a servant at your side?
MELINDA.
Oh, no, indeed; for now, mamma,
I see how wicked I have been;
You spoke most truly when you said
That envy was an odious sin.
Poor Jennie Wright! how very strange
That I should think her proud or vain;
How wicked and unkind it was
For me to envy little Jane.
I shall feel thankful I can walk
Whene’er I chance a coach to meet;
Nor envy those again who ride,
So long as I can use my feet.
[Illustration]
REMEMBER THE POOR.
“The poor ye have always with you, and when ye will ye may do them
good."--[WORDS OF JESUS.
God’s blessing on those
Who remember the poor!
If I had been born
In the Five Points, I’m sure
I should have been grateful
For work and for food;
And this House of Industry
Must do them great good.
Our hearts should be filled
With pity for those
Who suffer in winter
For want of warm clothes.
Who suffer with hunger
For want of nice bread,
While we from God’s bounty
Are constantly fed.
Then let us remember
How much they endure,--
Those dear little children
So wretched and poor,
And do what we can
To provide them with food,
For all our spare pennies
Would do them great good.
HOLIDAY GIFT.
MOTHER.
My children, I am glad to see
Your holidays have come;
For much it does delight my heart
To see you all at home.
And that you have behaved so well,
Gives me still greater joy;
For greatly does your happiness
Your mother’s thoughts employ.
The promise that I gave you all
Most strictly I regard,
And dearly do I love to give
My children their reward.
So here is a guinea, Charles, for you,
To buy that pretty sword,
Which, when you asked me for last spring,
I could not then afford.
And, Emma, one for you and Ann,
Between you to divide;
As Charles is older than yourselves,
I hope you’re satisfied.
EMMA.
Oh yes, mamma, ’tis quite enough,
We could not wish for more;
We never in our lives have had
One half as much before.
CHARLES.
Mamma, you seem to be perplexed
With some unpleasant care;
You smile, but then ’tis not the smile
That I have seen you wear.
Pray, tell me is it anything
That I have said or done?
I hope, mamma, I never shall
Be an ungrateful son.
MOTHER.
Oh, no, my child; you ever have
Been dutiful and kind,
But still, there is a circumstance
That has perplexed my mind.
You know that worthy family
That lived up on the hill,--
Poor Mr. Smith, the clever man,
That used to tend the mill.
Last spring, his wife and little ones
Were very sick, you know;
When they recovered, he was seized,
And died a week ago.
This very morning, Mrs. Smith
Came here to ask relief;
Poor woman! she looked pale and thin,
And overwhelmed with grief.
“Dear madam, I am grieved to come
And trouble you,” she said;
“But new afflictions seem to fall
In torrents on my head.
“Some time before my husband died,
We owed a quarter’s rent,
He laid it up, and would, no doubt,
Have paid it--every cent.
“But when our earnings all were stopp’d,
And we so long were ill,
I was obliged to take it all,
To pay the doctor’s bill.
“This very morn our landlord came,
And sternly bade me pay;
I told him all, and begged he’d wait
A little longer day.
“‘Wait longer? No, indeed I wont;
Too long I have waited now;
So pay, or you’ll march out of doors,
And I shall take your cow.’”
The widow wept, and then she said,
“I am willing to be poor,--
But yet to lose my only cow
Seems too much to endure.”
CHARLES.
Here, take this money, ma, and pay
As far as it will go;
I had rather never have a sword
Than she should suffer so.
EMMA AND ANN.
And ours, mamma; do take it all,
To pay that cruel man;
And pray make haste before he comes
To frighten them again.
MOTHER.
Come to my arms, my precious ones,
I only meant to see
Whether your little hearts were warmed
With sweet humanity.
I’ll take your money for this debt,--
And never did I pay
A sum away with such delight,
As I shall do this day.
Come, then, my children, let us go;
It is a bless’d employ
To cheer the widow’s heart and fill
The fatherless with joy.
[Illustration]
Oh, do not neglect
Your practice, my dear;
Papa will expect
Some good music to hear;
For he has been absent
Almost a whole year.
[Illustration] NURSERY CHILDREN NEEDING HOMES.
“Two orphan children, under five,
With pleasant, sunny faces,
Brother and sister, much attached,
Are candidates for ‘places.’”
Thus writes a lady from the Home;
And Fred has asked papa,
To take them both, and let them live
With him and dear mamma.
Papa replies: “My dear, I think
We’ve boys enough already;
But we will take the little girl--
A play-mate for our Freddy.”
O, must these little orphans part?
What will the poor boy do?
He hesitates a moment, then
He says, “we’ll take the two!
“For ’twould be very hard, to part
The sister from her brother;
Poor little friendless ones, who now
So dearly love each other.
“Mamma will not consent, I’m sure,
These orphans thus to part,
There’s room enough to hold them both,
In her warm, loving heart.”
Fred runs at once to ask mamma,
If she will be a mother
To this dear little girl and boy--
The sister and the brother.
She prays her Savior, then, to guide,
And teach her what to do;
Fred soon returns to tell papa,--
“Yes; we must take the two!”
For while she knelt in earnest prayer,
The Savior seemed to say,
In sweetest accents to her heart,
“Work, while ’tis called to-day.
“Take these dear little orphans home--
Go, feed these lambs for me,
And I will care for you and yours,
I will your Savior be.”
Oh, will not other parents hear,
The Savior sweetly plead,
_For my sake_, take these orphans home,
And be my friends indeed.
ALMIRA AND MINNIE.
MOTHER.
Almira, go and get your work,
And sit with me, my dear;
And, Minnie, you may read to us,--
We will with pleasure hear.
Two little misses thus employed
Is a delightful sight;
Then after tea the time’s your own,
And you may play till night.
Minnie, why do you look displeased?
Don’t you approve my plan?
Well, alter it yourself, my dear;
Improve it if you can.
MINNIE.
I’m tired of sitting here alone,
Mamma, with only you;
I’m tired of work, indeed I am,
I’m tired of reading, too.
And only just Almira here,
And Fido now to play;
If I’d my will I’d go abroad
Most gladly every day.
MOTHER.
Minnie, do you know Peggy Hill,
That little, modest child,
Who sometimes comes on errands here?
She lives with Mrs. Wild.
She came the other day when you
Was sitting here with me;
Almira sewed, you had a book,
And read quite prettily.
She tried to do her errand twice;
But when she came to speak,
I saw her turn aside and wipe
A tear from off her cheek.
I thought it strange, and led her out;
“What ails you, child,” said I;
“Pray have you hurt yourself, or what
Can thus have made you cry?”
“Oh, no,” she said, “I am not hurt;
I am to blame, I fear;
But such a tender sight as this
Will always force a tear.
“For I had tender parents once,--
Affectionate and kind;
But they are dead; they both have gone,
And left their child behind.
“I had a little sister, too,
And many a pleasant day
We with our mother worked and read
The cheerful hours away.
“But when we lost our parents, ma’am,
Our living all was fled;
And we were placed in strangers’ hands,
To earn our daily bread.
“My sister could not long support
The hardship of her fate;
She left this miserable world
And sought a happier state.
“Since then I have mourn’d my heavy lot;
Alone, without relief,--
I have no friend to pity me
Or listen to my grief.
“My mistress lives in wealth and ease,
From want and sorrow free;
She never knew what labor was,
Nor can she feel for me.
“I work from morn till night, and try
To please her all the while,
And think sometimes I’d give the world
Just for one pleasant smile.
“But every day I give offence,
In spite of all my care;
And cruel words from day to day,
It is my lot to bear.”
MINNIE.
Oh, how I pity Peggy Hill!
Her case is sad indeed;
I’m thankful for my happy home,--
Dear mother, let me read.
And let Almira get her work;--
Fido, you run away
Till after tea, then on the green
We’ll run, and jump, and play.
[Illustration]
THE INDIAN AND THE PLANTER.
By the door of his house a planter stood,
In fair Virginia’s clime,
When the setting sun had tinged the wood
With its golden hue sublime.
The lands of this planter were broadly spread,
He lacked not gold or gear,
And his house had plenty of meat and bread
To make them goodly cheer.
An Indian came from the forest deep,
A hunter in weary plight,
Who in humble accents asked to sleep
’Neath the planter’s roof that night.
To the Indian’s need he took no heed,
But forbade his longer stay;
“Then give me,” he said, “but a crust of bread,
And I’ll travel on my way.”
In wrath the planter this denied,
Forgetting the golden rule;
“Then give me, for mercy’s sake,” he cried,
“A cup of water cool.
“All day I have travell’d o’er fen and bog,
In chase of the bounding deer;”
“Away,” cried the planter, “you Indian dog,
For you shall have nothing here.”
The Indian turned to his distant home,
Though hungry and travel sore,
And the planter enter’d his goodly dome,
Nor thought of the Indian more.
When the leaves were sere, to chase the deer,
This self same planter went,
And bewildered stood, in a dismal wood,
When the day was fully spent.
He had lost his way in the chase that day,
And in vain to find it tried,
When a glimmering light fell on his sight,
From a wigwam close beside.
He thither ran, and a savage man
Received him as a guest;
He brought him cheer, the flesh of deer,
And gave him of the best.
Then kindly spread for the white man’s bed,
His softest skins beside,
And at break of day, through the forest way,
Went forth to be his guide.
At the forest’s verge, did the planter urge,
His service to have paid,
But the savage bold refused his gold,
And thus to the white man said:
“I came of late to the white man’s gate,
And weary and faint was I,
Yet neither meat, nor water sweet,
Did the Indian’s wants supply.
“Again should he come to the white man’s home
My service let him pay,
Nor say, again to the fainting man,
You ‘Indian dog, away!’”
THE INDIAN AND THE BASKET.[7]
Among Rhode Island’s early sons,
Was one whose orchards fair,
By plenteous and well-flavored fruit,
Rewarded all his care.
For household use they stored the best,
And all the rest conveyed
To neighboring mill, were ground and press’d,
And into cider made.
The wandering Indian oft partook
The generous farmer’s cheer;
He liked his food, but better still
His cider fine and clear.
And as he quaff’d the pleasant draught,
The kitchen fire before,
He longed for some to carry home,
And asked for more and more.
The farmer saw a basket new
Beside the Indian bold,
And smiling said, “I’ll give to you
As much as that will hold.”
Both laughed, for how could liquid thing
Within a basket stay;
But yet the jest unanswering,
The Indian went his way,
When next from rest the farmer sprung,
So very cold the morn,
The icicles like diamonds hung
On every spray and thorn.
The brook that babbled by his door
Was deep, and clear, and strong,
And yet unfettered by the frost,
Leaped merrily along.
The self-same Indian by this brook.
The astonished farmer sees;
He laid his basket in the stream,
Then hung it up to freeze.
And by this process oft renewed,
The basket soon became
A well-glazed vessel, tight and good,
Of most capacious frame.
The door he entered speedily,
And claim’d the promis’d boon,
The farmer, laughing heartily,
Fulfilled his promise soon.
Up to the basket’s brim he saw
The sparkling cider rise,
And to rejoice his absent squaw,
He bore away the prize.
Long lived the good man at the farm,--
The house is standing still,
And still leaps merrily along,
The much diminished rill.
And his descendants still remain,
And tell to those who ask it,
The story they have often heard
About the INDIAN’S BASKET.
[Illustration] GRANDMAMMA’S STORY.
Oh, tell some tales of ancient times,
Dear grandmamma, again;
When you was young as we are now,
Said little Mary Jane.
She raised her mild blue eyes, and said,
I have a tale to tell,
Which once I read, when I was young,
And now remember well.
My mother bought the book for me,
And brought it home one day,
When I had been a naughty girl,
And passionate at play.
Although the tale was very sad,
I tell it now, that you
May see what very wicked things,
An angry child may do.
GRANDMAMMA’S STORY OF THE BLIND
CHILD.
Some ladies once agreed with me,
To give our little ones a sail;
The day was fine, the summer wind
Just blew a soft and pleasant gale.
We stepped on board a pleasure boat,
With gayest colors painted o’er,
And in the bosom of the stream,
We sweetly sailed along the shore.
Our children could not keep their seats,
But every sportive girl and boy,
With hearts as cheerful as the day,
Did skip about the deck for joy;
Except one pretty little girl,
Who sat alone with downcast eye,
And now and then I saw a tear,
And thought I heard a broken sigh.
I wondered much that one so young,
Should seem so pensively inclined,
And asked her mother what it meant;
“Alas!” said she, “the child is blind.
“One day, I never shall forget,
She and her brother were at play;
Something she said offended him,
And so they had a childish fray.
“She turned her head and gave a look,
’T was half a smile and half grimace;
His temper rose,--he caught a fork
And threw it in his sister’s face.
“It struck her eye, the blood gushed out,
He screamed, and turn’d as pale as death;
Oh, never shall my memory lose
That dreadful scene while I have breath.
“For three long, melancholy months,
We kept her in a darkened room,
With a close bandage round her eyes,
Where not a ray of light could come.
“The doctors tried their utmost skill
To keep her sight, but all in vain;
At length the wounded eyes were healed,
But she will never see again.
“Her brother’s heart is almost broke;
‘Oh, Harriet,’ he often cries,
‘If I was owner of the world,
I’d give it to restore your eyes.
“‘But you will laugh and play no more,
Nor your dear parents’ faces see,
Nor trees, nor fields, nor blooming flowers,
And never will you look on me.
“‘Oh, wrretched, miserable boy!
What has my wicked temper done;
I’ve shut my dear, dear sister’s eyes
Forever from the cheerful sun!’”
This story, children, made me feel
How very wicked I had been;
To lose my temper when at play,
I felt to be a grievous sin.
And now, my dears, said grandmamma,
May this sad tale I’ve told to-day
Lead you to guard your hearts with care,
And ne’er be angry when at play.
BLACKBERRY GIRL.