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Songs for the Little Ones
at Home
[Illustration: Mother with children]
Songs for the Little
Ones at Home
_REVISED EDITION_
_350th Thousand_
AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY
150 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK
Copyright, 1884 and 1911, by
AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
HEART AND HEARTHSTONE 7
HOUR BY HOUR 47
LITTLE POOR RELATIONS 81
THE GREAT OUTDOORS 135
ON EARTH AS IN HEAVEN 175
THE CHRIST CHILD 219
HEROES AND PATRIOTS 231
INDEX 253
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Acknowledgments are made to Charles Scribner’s Sons for the use of _My
Shadow_, from A CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSES:
To Houghton, Mifflin & Company for _The Leak in the Dike_, from THE
POEMS OF PHŒBE CARY:
To the American Book Company for _The Reindeer and the Rabbit_, from
the old MCGUFFEY SECOND ECLECTIC READER; and for _Young Soldiers_ and
_The Lord’s Prayer_, from the old MCGUFFEY THIRD ECLECTIC READER.
Thanks are also rendered to Mrs. Margaret E. Sangster for the use of
_Dear Little Heads in the Pew_; and to Professor Irsay de Irsa and
others for advice and encouragement.
HEART AND HEARTHSTONE
Some precious words are born of earth,
Some others by the angels given;
But sweetest of celestial birth
Are these: “My Mother,” “Home,” and “Heaven.”
[Music:
THE FATHER’S WILL
Air, with bass accompaniment
1. How sweet the home of Nazareth Where Mary mother smiled,
And flow’rs of daily duty bloom’d About the holy Child.
His Father’s will was all His task Within that earthly home,
That will for ever done in Heav’n Whence He so late had come.
2. Obedient, gentle, loving, meek, He worked at Joseph’s side;
Does nothing from that daily toil Thro’ all the years abide?
We scan the wide world o’er, nor find. In any clime or land,
One single, sacred, treasured thing Wrought out by Jesus’ hand.
3. But wheresoe’er a Christian child Does on the earth fulfil....
With humble, rev’rent, tender heart The heav’nly Father’s will,
The work, tho’ mean and poor to view With heav’nly grace is
fraught,
Since age to age it passes on The lesson Jesus taught.
]
HEART AND HEARTHSTONE
THE FATHER’S WILL
How sweet the home of Nazareth,
Where Mary mother smiled,
And flowers of duty daily bloomed
About the holy Child.
His Father’s will was all his task
Within that earthly home,
The will forever done in heaven,
Whence he so late had come.
Obedient, gentle, loving, meek,
He worked at Joseph’s side:
Does nothing from that daily toil
Through all the years abide?
We scan the wide world o’er, nor find,
In any clime or land,
One single, sacred, treasured thing
Wrought out by Jesus’ hand;
But wheresoe’er a Christian child
Does on the earth fulfil
With humble, reverent, tender heart,
The heavenly Father’s will,
The work, though mean and poor to view,
With heavenly grace is fraught,
Since age to age it passes on
The lesson Jesus taught.
WHEN FATHER COMES HOME
When my father comes home in the evening from work,
Then I will get up on his knee,
And tell him how many nice lessons I’ve learned,
And show him how good I can be.
He’ll ask me what number I know how to count,
I’ll tell him what words I can spell;
And if I can learn something new every day,
I hope soon to read very well.
[Illustration: Jesus, Mary and Joseph in carpenter’s shop]
I’ll repeat to him all the good verses I know,
And tell him how kind we must be,
That we never must hurt little creatures at all;
And he will be glad, and love me.
I’ll tell him we always must try to please God,
And never be cruel nor rude,
For God is the Father of all living things,
He cares for and blesses the good.
DEAR MAMMA
My own mamma; my dear mamma!
How happy shall I be
To-morrow night at candlelight,
When she comes home to me!
’Tis just one week since on my cheek
She pressed the parting kiss:
It seems like two; I never knew
So long a week as this.
My tangled hair she smoothed with care,
With water bathed my brow;
And all with such a gentle touch--
I wish she’d do it now.
But she will come; she’ll be at home
To-morrow night; and then
I hope that she will never be
So long away again.
MY MOTHER
My mother, my kind mother,
I hear thy gentle voice;
It always makes my little heart
Beat gladly and rejoice.
When I am ill it comes to me,
And kindly soothes my pain;
And when I sleep, then in my dreams
It sweetly comes again.
It always makes me happy,
Whene’er I hear its tone;
I know it is the voice of love,
From a heart that is my own.
My mother, my dear mother,
O may I never be
Unkind or disobedient,
In any way, to thee.
FOR MOTHER
I give my mother lots of kisses,
There’s really never one she misses:
A “wake-up kiss” right in the morning,
A “good-night kiss” when I am yawning,
A “sorry kiss” when I’ve been bad,
A “happy kiss” when I am glad.
Once she was sick; I went to stay
At auntie’s house, oh, miles away!
Then I sent kisses in a letter;
She said they truly made her better.
There’s never really one she misses,
Oh, I give mother lots of kisses.
PAPA IS COMING
I know he’s coming by this sign,—
The baby’s almost wild!
See how he laughs and crows and starts--
Heaven bless the merry child!
He’s father’s self in face and limb,
And father’s heart is strong in him.
Shout, baby, shout! and clap thy hands,
For father on the threshold stands.
MY FATHER BLESSED ME
My father raised his trembling hand
And laid it on my head;
“God bless thee, O my son, my son!”
Most tenderly he said.
He died, and left no gems or gold:
But still I was his heir,
For that rich blessing which he gave
Became a fortune rare.
WELCOME
Welcome, welcome, little stranger,
To this busy world of care;
Nothing can thy peace endanger,
Nothing now thy steps ensnare.
Mother’s heart is filled with pleasure,
All her feelings are awake;
Gladly would she, little treasure,
All thy pains and sufferings take.
Mayest thou, if designed by heaven
Future days and years to see,
Soothe her, make her passage even;
Let her heart rejoice in thee.
May her anxious cares and labors
Be repaid by filial love;
And thy soul be crowned with favors
From the boundless source above.
—_Taylor._
THE PRINCE COMES!
“What is this pretty little thing,
That nurse so carefully doth bring,
And round its head a blanket fling?
A baby!
“Oh, dear, how very soft its cheek;
Why, nurse, I cannot make it speak,
And it can’t walk, it is so weak.
A baby!
“Oh, I’m afraid that it will die;
Why can’t it eat as well as I,
And jump, and talk? Do let it try.
Poor baby!”
“Why, you were once a baby too,
And could not jump as now you do,
But good mamma took care of you,
Like baby.
“And then she taught your little feet
To pat along the carpet neat,
And called papa to come and meet
His baby.
“O dear mamma, to take such care,
And no kind pains and trouble spare
To feed and nurse you when you were
A baby.”
WHERE DID YOU COME FROM, BABY DEAR?
Where did you come from, baby dear?
Out of the everywhere into here.
Where did you get your eyes so blue?
Out of the sky as I came through.
Where did you get that little tear?
I found it waiting when I got here.
What makes your forehead so smooth and high?
A soft hand stroked it as I went by.
What makes your cheek like a warm, white rose?
I saw something better than any one knows.
Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss?
Three angels at once gave me a kiss.
Where did you get this pearly ear?
God spoke, and it came out to hear.
How did they all just come to you?
God thought about me, and so I grew.
But how did you come to us, you dear?
God thought about you, and so I am here.
—_George Macdonald._
HUSHABY
Hushaby, hushaby,
Baby, do not weep;
On thy downy pillow lie,
Softly, softly sleep.
Hushaby, hushaby,
Now thine eyelids close;
While thy mother sitting by
Watches thy repose.
Hushaby, hushaby,
Think of no alarm;
Angel spirits round thee fly,
Guarding thee from harm.
Hushaby, hushaby,
Slumber sweet be given;
On thy downy pillow lie,
Precious gift from heaven.
BABY, SLEEP
Sleep, baby, sleep,
No longer weep;
Near thee sits thy little brother,
Close beside thee is thy mother:
Sleep, baby, sleep.
Sleep, baby, sleep,
No longer weep;
Israel’s Shepherd watches o’er thee,
No rude danger lies before thee:
Sleep, baby, sleep.
Sleep, baby, sleep,
No longer weep;
Germ of beauty, bud and blossom,
Rest upon thy Saviour’s bosom:
Sleep, baby, sleep.
SWEETLY SLEEP
Sleep, my baby--sleep, my boy,
Rest your little weary head;
’Tis your mother rocks her boy
In his little cradle bed.
All the little birds are sleeping--
Every one has gone to rest;
And my precious one is resting
In his pretty cradle nest.
SLEEP, BABY! SLEEP!
Sleep, baby! sleep!
Thy father watches his sheep,
Thy mother is shaking the dreamland tree,
And down falls a little dream on thee.
Sleep, baby! sleep!
Sleep, baby! sleep!
The large stars are the sheep;
The little stars are the lambs, I guess,
And the bright moon is the shepherdess
Sleep, baby! sleep!
Sleep, baby! sleep!
Thy Saviour loves his sheep;
He is the Lamb of God on high,
Who for our sakes came down to die.
Sleep, baby! sleep!
GOOD-NIGHT
Baby, baby, lay your head
On your pretty little bed;
Shut your eye-peeps, now the day
And the light are gone away;
All the clothes are tucked in tight,
Little baby dear, good-night,
Sleep, my sweet, till morning light.
MORNING
Baby, baby, ope your eye,
For the sun is in the sky,
And he’s peeping once again
Through the clear, bright window-pane;
Little baby, do not keep
Any longer fast asleep,
Through your cradle curtains peep.
THE BABY-JUMPER
Now, little Georgie, jump up high;
Never mind, Georgie, mother is by:
Crow and caper, caper and crow,
There, little baby, there you go,
Up to the ceiling, down to the ground,
Upwards and downwards, round and round;
Then jump, little Georgie, and mother shall sing,
While the gay, merry bells go ting-a-ling-ling.
LEARNING TO WALK
Come, my darling, come away,
Take a pretty walk to-day;
Run along, and never fear,
I’ll take care of baby dear;
Up and down with little feet,
That’s the way to walk, my sweet.
Now you are so very near,
Soon you’ll get to mother dear;
There, she comes along at last:
Here’s my finger, hold it fast.
Now, one pretty little kiss,
After such a walk as this.
[Illustration: Three boys]
MY BROTHER
Who often with me kindly played,
And all my little playthings made,
Through lonely hours who with me stayed?
My brother.
Who made a sled when winter came,
With little ropes to draw the same,
And on its sides carved out my name?
My brother.
And who was it that taught to me
The way to read my A, B, C,
And marked them on the slate for me?
My brother.
Then may I ever grateful be
For all thy kindness shown to me,
And ne’er withdraw my love from thee,
My brother.
LOVE YOUR LITTLE BROTHER
I had a little friend;
And every day he crept
In sadness to his brother’s tomb,
And laid him down and wept.
And when I asked him why
He mourned so long and sore,
He answered through his tears, “Because
I did not love him more.
“Sometimes I was not kind,
Or cross, or coldly spake;”
And then he turned away, and sobbed
As though his heart would break.
Brothers and sisters are a gift
Of mercy from the skies;
And may I always think of this
Whene’er they meet my eyes;
Be tender, good, and kind,
And love them in my heart,
Lest I should sigh with bitter grief,
When we are called to part.
—_Mrs. Sigourney._
THE BROOK
’Twas here my sister dear was drowned
One long, bright summer-day;
Here was the little darling found
By good and faithful Tray.
’Tis many years since Ellen died;
But I have not forgot
The moment we her bonnet spied
Beside this very spot.
How very wet her golden hair,
And how it made me weep
To see her lie so still and fair,
And know it was not sleep.
Poor Tray sits watching in my face
With such an earnest look;
He knows full well how sad a place
Is this sweet babbling brook.
Had I a sister now to love,
How very kind I’d be;
Ellen, the little gentle dove,
Was always kind to me.
LOVE ONE ANOTHER
A little girl with a happy look
Sat slowly reading a ponderous book
All bound with velvet and edged with gold,
And its weight was more than the child could hold;
Yet dearly she loved to ponder it o’er,
And every day she prized it more;
For it said--and she looked at her smiling mother--
It said, “Little children, love one another.”
She thought it was beautiful in the book,
And the lesson home to her heart she took;
She walked on her way with a trusting grace,
And a dovelike look in her meek young face,
Which said, just as plain as words could say,
The holy Bible I must obey;
So, mamma, I’ll be kind to my darling brother,
For “little children must love each other.”
I am sorry he’s naughty, and will not play.
But I’ll love him still, for I think the way
To make him gentle and kind to me,
Will be better shown, if I let him see
I strive to do what I think is right:
And thus, when we kneel in prayer to-night,
I will clasp my arms about my brother,
And say, “Little children, love one another.”
The little girl did as her Bible taught,
And pleasant indeed was the change it wrought;
For the boy looked up in glad surprise,
To meet the light of her loving eyes:
His heart was full--he could not speak,
But he pressed a kiss on his sister’s cheek,
And God looked down on the happy mother,
Whose “little children loved one another.”
SYMPATHY
Does your head ache, little brother?
Are you sick, and are you weak?
Are you sad, and tired of playing?
Does it hurt you when you speak?
I can’t cure you, darling brother,
Cannot ease a single pain;
I’ll go ask our heavenly Father,
He can make you well again.
LOVE AT HOME
Whatever brawls disturb the street,
There should be peace at home;
Where sisters dwell and brothers meet,
Quarrels should never come.
Birds in their little nests agree;
And ’tis a shameful sight,
When children of one family
Fall out and chide and fight.
Pardon, O Lord, our childish rage,
Our little brawls remove;
That, as we grow to riper age,
Our hearts may all be love.
—_Watts._
WE ARE SEVEN
I met a little cottage girl,
She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.
“Sisters and brothers, little maid,
How many may you be?”
“How many? seven in all,” she said,
And wondering looked at me.
“And where are they? I pray you tell;”
She answered, “Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.
“Two of us in the churchyard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And in the churchyard cottage I
Dwell near them with my mother.”
“You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,
Yet you are seven; I pray you tell,
Sweet maid, how this may be.”
Then did the little maid reply,
“Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the churchyard lie,
Beneath the churchyard tree.”
“You run about, my little maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the churchyard laid,
Then you are only five.”
“Their graves are green, they may be seen,”
The little maid replied,
“Twelve steps or more from mother’s door,
And they are side by side.
“My stockings there I often knit;
My ’kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit--
I sit and sing to them.
“And often after sunset, sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.
“The first that died was little Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her from her pain,
And then she went away.
“So in the churchyard she was laid;
And when the grass was dry,
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I.
“And when the ground was white with snow,
And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go
And he lies by her side.”
“How many are you, then,” said I,
“If those two are in heaven?”
The little maiden did reply,
“Oh, master, we are seven.”
“But they are dead--those two are dead,
Their spirits are in heaven.”
’Twas throwing words away, for still
The little maid would have her will,
And said, “Nay, we are seven.”
—_Wordsworth._
GRANDPA AND ME
My grandpa says that he was once
A little boy like me.
I s’pose he was, and yet it does
Seem queer to think that he
Could ever get my jacket on,
Or shoes, or like to play
With games and toys and race with Duke,
As I do every day.
He’s come to visit us, you see;
Nurse says I must be good
And mind my manners, as a child
With such a grandpa should.
For grandpa’s very straight and tall,
And very dignified;
He knows ’most all there is to know,
And other things beside.
So, though my grandpa knows so much,
I thought that maybe boys
Were things he hadn’t studied,
They make such awful noise.
But when at dinner I asked for
Another piece of pie,
I thought I saw a twinkle
In the corner of his eye.
So yesterday, when they went out,
And left us two alone,
I was not quite so much surprised
To find how nice he’d grown.
You should have seen us romp and run!
My! now I almost see
That p’r’aps he was, long, long ago,
A little boy like me.
—_The Round Table._
[Illustration: Grandpa with two children]
JESUS DWELLS WITHIN
K. E. C. German
1. Down in our lowly home All goes so well; All pleasures
hither come To our sweet dell; Father so brave is here, Mother so
kind and dear! Oh, in our lowly home All goes so well.
2. Down by our fireside neat Love rules the hours Thro’ winter’s
icy sleet And summer’s flow’rs. Children, a happy band, Kind words
and
gentle hand: Oh, by our fireside neat Love rules the hours.
3. Why in our peaceful cot Goes all so well? Why here love
faileth not Can any tell? Jesus abides within, Guarding from
strife and sin. O Saviour, evermore Here with us dwell.
THE BLIND BOY
“Dear Mary,” said the poor blind boy,
“That little bird sings very long;
Say, do you see him in his joy,
And is he pretty as his song?”
“Yes, Edward, yes,” replied the maid,
“I see the bird on yonder tree”;
The poor boy sighed, and gently said,
“Sister, I wish that I could see.
“The flowers, you say, are very fair,
And bright green leaves are on the trees,
And pretty birds are singing there--
How beautiful for one who sees.
“Yet I the fragrant flowers can smell,
And I can feel the green leaf’s shade,
And I can hear the notes that swell
From those dear birds that God has made.
“So, sister, God to me is kind,
Though sight to me he has not given;
But tell me, are there any blind
Among the children up in heaven?”
LITTLE NEIGHBORS
Two children are at the door, mamma,
Two children are at the door,
A little boy and a little girl,
And the wind is biting, at every whirl,
Their feet all naked and sore.
Oh, hasten and bring them in, mamma,
Oh, hasten and bring them in,
And let them sit by the fire so warm,
For they have been out in the cold, cold storm,
And their clothes are tattered and thin.
And tell them this is their home, mamma,
Oh, tell them this is their home;
And give them something to eat that’s nice,
Of bread and butter a good large slice,
And bid them no more to roam.
For isn’t it all too bad, mamma,
Oh, isn’t it all too bad,
That they must starve, or beg in the street,
No cloak to their backs, or shoes to their feet,
While I am so finely clad?
It may be God sent them here, mamma,
It may be God sent them here,
And now looks down from his home in the sky,
To watch them and see whether you and I
Are kind to his children dear.
And will he not angry be, mamma,
And will he not angry be,
If we let them go on in the storm so rough,
To perish with want, while more than enough
For them and for us have we?
A BOY’S FAITH
I knew a widow very poor,
Who four small children had;
The eldest was but six years old,
A gentle, modest lad.
And very hard this widow toiled
To feed her children four;
A noble heart the mother had,
Though she was very poor.
To labor, she would leave her home,
For children must be fed;
And glad was she when she could buy
A shilling’s worth of bread.
And this was all the children had
On any day to eat:
They drank their water, ate their bread,
But never tasted meat.
One day when snow was falling fast,
And piercing was the air,
I thought that I would go and see
How these poor ones might fare.
Ere long I reached their cheerless home--
’Twas searched by every breeze--
When, going in, the eldest child
I saw upon his knees.
I paused to hear poor Willie’s prayer;
He never raised his head,
But still went on, and said, “Give us
This day our daily bread.”
I waited till the child was done,
Still listening as he prayed;
And when he rose, I asked him why
That prayer he then had said.
“Why, sir,” said he, “this morning, when
My mother went away,
She wept, because she said she had
No bread for us to-day.
“She said we children now must starve,
Our father being dead;
And then I told her not to cry,
For I could get some bread.
“‘Our Father,’ sir, the prayer begins,
Which made me think that he,
As we have no kind father here,
Would our kind Father be.
“And then you know, sir, that the prayer
Asks God for bread each day;
So in the corner, sir, I went,
And that’s what made me pray.”
I quickly left that wretched room,
And went with fleeting feet,
And very soon was back again
With food enough to eat.
“I _thought_ God heard me,” said the boy.
I answered with a nod;
I could not speak, but much I thought
Of Willie’s faith in God.
THE ORPHAN FLOWER-GIRL
“My flowers--who’ll buy?” cried a sweet little child,
An orphan left friendless and poor;
“I’ve roses and pinks, and sweet-brier wild,
And heaven will bless you thrice o’er.
Then pray buy my roses, indeed they’re not dear;
Each bud shall be moistened with gratitude’s tear.
“Oh, pray buy my roses--for hard is my fate,
My poor little sisters want bread;
Bestow but a mite, before ’tis too late;
Our parents to heaven are fled.
Then pray buy my roses, indeed they’re not dear;
Each bud shall be moistened with gratitude’s tear.”
THE BLACKBERRY-GIRL
“Why, Phebe, are you come so soon?
Where are your berries, child?
You cannot, sure, have sold them all,
You had a basket piled.”
“No, mother, as I climbed the fence,
The nearest way to town,
My apron caught upon the stake,
And so I tumbled down.
“I scratched my arm, and tore my hair,
But still did not complain;
And had my blackberries been safe,
Should not have cared a grain.
“But when I saw them on the ground,
All scattered by my side,
I picked my empty basket up,
And down I sat and cried.
“Just then a pretty little maid
Chanced to be walking by;
She stopped, and looking pitiful,
She begged me not to cry.
“‘Poor little girl, you fell,’ said she,
‘And must be sadly hurt;’
’O no,‘ I cried; ’but see my fruit,
All mixed with sand and dirt.’
“‘Well, do not grieve for that,’ she said,
‘Go home, and get some more.’
’Ah, no, for I have stripped the vines,
These were the last they bore.
“’My father, Miss, is very poor,
And works in yonder stall;
He has so many little ones,
He cannot clothe us all.
“’I always longed to go to church,
But never could I go;
For when I asked him for a gown,
He always answered, “No;
“There’s not a father in the world
That loves his children more;
I’d get you one with all my heart,
But, Phebe, I am poor.”
“’But when the blackberries were ripe,
He said to me one day,
“Phebe, if you will take the time
That’s given you for play,
“And gather blackberries enough,
And carry them to town,
To buy your bonnet and your shoes,
I’ll try to get a gown.”
“’Oh, Miss, I fairly jumped for joy,
My spirits were so light;
And so, when I had leave to play,
I picked with all my might.
“’I sold enough to get my shoes,
About a week ago;
And these, if they had not been spilt,
Would buy a bonnet, too.
“‘But now they’re gone, they all are gone,
And I can get no more,
And Sundays I must stay at home
Just as I did before.’
“And, mother, then I cried again
As hard as I could cry;
And looking up, I saw a tear
Was standing in her eye.
“She caught her bonnet from her head,
‘Here, here,’ she cried, ‘take this!’
‘O no, indeed, for your mamma
Would be offended, Miss.’
“’My mother? never; she delights
All sorrow to beguile;
And ’tis the sweetest joy she feels,
To make the wretched smile.
“’She taught me when I had enough,
To share it with the poor;
And never let a needy child
Go empty from the door.
“‘So take it, for you need not fear
Offending her, you see;
I have another, too, at home,
And one’s enough for me.’
“So then I took it--here it is--
For pray what could I do?
And, mother, I shall love that girl
As long as I love you.”
HOW SELFISH IT IS!
I’ve a home and kind friends, and abundance to eat,
And clothing sufficient, both decent and neat,
And books, that my mind may to knowledge aspire,
And all that a child can in reason desire;
But to care for _my_ comfort, and only for this,
And forget my poor neighbors, how selfish it is!
I have got a plum-cake, and the whole is my own,
And no one will know, if I eat it alone;
But what if the cake be so sweet and so nice,
I dare say poor John would be glad of a slice:
My treat he shall share, a large slice shall be his,
For to eat all one’s self, oh, how selfish it is!
My aunt kindly gave me a quarter last night,
For she knew that I wanted to buy a new kite;
But a poor aged widow lives over the way,
And she says she has not had a morsel to-day:
“Here, dry up your tears, and buy something with this,
For to spend all on playthings, how selfish it is!”
As Christ has commanded, I’ll constantly try
My neighbor to love and myself to deny;
From my own little pleasures a trifle I’ll spare,
To gladden his heart and to lighten his care;
That whate’er my friends find in my conduct amiss,
They never may say, oh, how selfish he is!
THINKING OF MERCIES
Whene’er I take my walks abroad,
How many poor I see;
How shall I render to my God
For all his gifts to me?
Not more than others I deserve,
Yet God has given me more;
For I have food, while others starve,
Or beg from door to door.
While some poor creatures scarce can tell
Where they may lay their head,
I have a home wherein to dwell,
And rest upon my bed.
While others early learn to swear,
And curse, and lie, and steal,
Lord, I am taught thy name to fear,
And do thy holy will.
Are these thy favors, day by day,
To me above the rest?
Then let me love thee more than they,
And try to serve thee best.
—_Watts._
HOUR BY HOUR
The seconds fly--a minute’s gone;
The minutes fly--an hour is run;
The day is fled--the night is here:
Thus flies a week--a month--a year!
[Illustration: “WHERE’S THE TIME?”]
HOUR BY HOUR
DAWN OF DAY
Come, arise from thy sleep,
Through the window now peep;
Birds sweetly are straying,
Their bright plumes displaying,
At dawn of day.
Let us breathe the fresh air,
For the morning is fair,
And the forest is ringing
With merry birds singing,
At dawn of day.
Come along for a talk,
Or a sweet morning walk,
While the garden discloses
Its bright blushing roses,
At dawn of day.
MORNING
Awake! awake! my love;
The Saviour from above,
Would lend his gracious ear
To listen to your prayer:
Rise and unbosom every care.
Awake! awake! my love;
The Saviour from above,
In accents kind and mild,
Would own you as his child,
Though you’re by nature all defiled.
Awake! awake! my love;
The Saviour from above
Can pardon all your sin,
And bid your soul be clean;
His blood can cleanse from every stain.
EYE-PEEP HOUR
Now I wake and ope my eyes,
For the sun is in the skies;
He has left his kingly bed,
Clouds of gold and rosy red,
And the earth is full of light
Beaming from his eyes so bright.
Little eyes must open too,
Little folks have work to do:
I must dress me quick and neat,
Nice and clean from head to feet;
Good cold water must not spare,
Brush my teeth and comb my hair;
Then kneel down and slowly say--
Thinking not of work or play,
But with fixed and earnest thought--
That dear prayer our Saviour taught;
Then think softly how to-day
I the Saviour can obey;
How God’s name can hallowed be,
And his will be done by me.
I must be a Christian child,
Gentle, patient, meek, and mild;
Must be honest, simple, true,
In my words and actions too.
I must cheerfully obey,
Giving up my will and way;
Must not always thinking be
What is pleasantest to me;
But must try kind things to do
And make others happy too.
If a playmate treats me ill,
I must be forgiving still;
I must learn my lessons well,
Not my schoolmates to excel,
But because my heart’s delight
Is in doing what is right.
And in all I do and say,
In my lessons and my play,
Must remember God can view
All I think and all I do;
Glad that he can know I _try_,
Glad that children such as I,
In our feeble ways, and small,
Can serve him who loves us all.
THE COLD WATER BOY
Hurrah, for a splash!
Come, give me a dash
With the water all clear and cold;
It makes me so bright,
So active and light,
’Tis better than silver and gold.
Oh, what should I do,
Dear mother, if you
Never washed me so sweet and so clean?
Come, give me a splashing;
It is so refreshing,
All the day I would like to stay in.
I never would cry,
Nor halloo--not I--
Unless ’twere for joy and for glee;
I love the good splashing,
And plunging and dashing:
Hurrah for cold water for me!
WHAT I HATE
I hate to see a little girl
That does not love to rise,
And dash the water, fresh and sweet,
Upon her face and eyes.
I hate to see her pretty dress
So careless look and tossed,
Her toys all scattered here and there,
Her thread and needle lost.
I hate to see her, at her play,
When little girls have met
To frolic, laugh, and run about,
Grow peevish, cry, and fret.
I hate to hear her tell a lie--
What’s not her own to take;
Mamma’s commands to disobey,
And father’s rules to break.
And now I’ve told you what I hate
I’ll only stop to say,
Perhaps I’ll tell you what I love
Upon some other day.
WHAT I LOVE
I love to see a little girl
Rise with the lark so bright;
Bathe, comb, and dress with cheerful face,
Then thank the God of light.
And when she comes to meet mamma,
So fresh and neat and clean,
And asks a kiss from dear papa
With such a modest mien,
That all who see her gentle look
And pretty actions too,
Will feel that she’s a darling child--
Kind, honest, loving, true.
FOLDED WINGS
What does little birdie say,
In her nest at peep of day?
“Let me fly,” says little birdie;
“Mother, let me fly away.”
“Birdie, rest a little longer,
Till thy little wings are stronger.”
So she rests a little longer,
Then she flies away.
What does little baby say,
In her bed at peep of day?
Baby says, like little birdie,
“Let me rise and fly away.”
“Baby, sleep a little longer,
Till thy little limbs are stronger.
If she sleeps a little longer,
Baby, too, shall fly away.”
—_Tennyson._
UP EARLY
Little birds are wide awake
Early in the morning;
Just think how funny it would be
To see the robins yawning!
TIME
“Sixty seconds make a minute,
Sixty minutes make an hour;”
If I were a little linnet,
Hopping in her leafy bower,
Then I should not have to sing it:
“Sixty seconds make a minute.”
Twenty-four hours make a day,
Seven days will make a week;
And while we all at marbles play,
Or run at cunning “hide and seek,”
Or in the garden gather flowers,
We’ll tell the time that makes the hours.
In every month the weeks are four,
And twelve whole months will make a year;
Now I must say it o’er and o’er,
Or else it never will be clear;
So once again I will begin it:
“Sixty seconds make a minute.”
[Illustration: Young girl]
[Music:
LITTLE DROPS OF WATER
Rev. Eben C. Brewer English
1. Little drops of water, Little
grains of sand, Make the mighty
ocean And the pleasant land.
2. Thus the little minutes, Humble
though they be, Make the mighty
ages Of eternity.
3. Little deeds of kindness, Little
words of love, Make our earth an
Eden Like to Heav’n above.]
HOW I LOVE
How I love my tender mother,
How I love my father dear;
How I love my little brother,
And my gentle sister here:
They are all both kind and true,
And they dearly love me, too.
Be my neighbor proud or lowly,
He shall my affection share;
Be he sinful, be he holy,
He may claim my earnest prayer:
Let me not unfeeling prove,
Nor myself too dearly love.
But of all affection given,
God on high demands the most;
God the Father in the heaven,
God the Son, and Holy Ghost:
Three in one, and One in three,
Be thou all in all to me.
[Illustration: Child praying]
HAPPY HELEN
She said, “I should like to be happy to-day,
If I could but tell which was the easiest way;
But then I don’t know any pretty new play:
“And as to the old ones, why, which is the best?
There’s old blind man’s buff, hide-and-seek, and the rest--
Or pretending it’s tea-time, when dollies are dressed.
“But no; let me see--now I’ve thought of a way
Which would really, I think, be still better than play:
I’ll try to be good, if I can, the _whole_ day,
“Without any fretting or crying: Oh, no,
For _that_ makes me wretched wherever I go;
And it _would_ be a pity to spoil the day so.
“I don’t choose to be such a baby, not I,
To be peevish and cross, and just ready to cry;
And mamma will be pleased that at least I should try.”
I WILL BE GOOD TO-DAY
“I will be good, dear mother,”
I heard a sweet child say;
“I will be good; now watch me--
I will be good all day.”
She lifted up her bright young eyes,
With a soft and pleasing smile;
Then a mother’s kiss was on her lips,
So pure and free from guile.
And when night came, that little one,
In kneeling down to pray,
Said, in a soft and whispering tone,
“Have I been good to-day?”
Oh, many, many bitter tears
’Twould save us, did we say,
Like that dear child, with earnest heart,
“I will be good to-day.”
THE HONEST BOY
Once there was a little boy
With curly hair and pleasant eye,
A boy who always told the truth,
And never, never told a lie.
And when he trotted off to school,
The children all about would cry,
“There goes the curly-headed boy,
The boy that never tells a lie.”
And everybody loved him so,
Because he always told the truth,
That every day, as he grew up,
’Twas said, “There goes the honest youth.”
And when the people that stood near
Would turn to ask the reason why,
The answer would be always this,
“Because he never tells a lie.”
THE LIE
And has my darling told a lie?
Did she forget that God was by--
That God who saw the thing she did,
From whom no action can be hid?
Did she forget that God could see
And hear, wherever she might be?
He made our eyes, and can discern
Whichever way you think to turn;
He made our ears, and he can hear
Whene’er you think no one is near:
In every place, by night or day,
He watches all you do or say.
You thought because you were alone,
Your falsehood never could be known;
But liars always are found out,
Whatever way they wind about:
Then always be afraid, my dear,
To tell a lie, for God can hear.
THE GOLDEN RULE
To do to others as I would
That they should do to me,
Will make me honest, kind, and good,
As children ought to be.
TWO LITTLE TEMPERS
Bad temper, go,
You never shall stay with me;
Bad temper, go,
You and I shall ne’er agree.
For I will always kind and mild
And gentle pray to be,
And do to others as I wish
That they should do to me.
Temper bad,
Go away!
Temper good,
Happy and gay,
Come, sweet temper, come and stay.
MEDDLESOME MATTIE
Matilda was a pleasant child,
But one bad trick she had,
That e’en when all around her smiled
Oft made her friends feel sad.
Sometimes she’d lift the teapot-lid
To peep at what was in it;
Or tilt the kettle, if you did
But turn your head a minute.
As grandmamma went out one day,
Her snuff-box and her specs
She down upon the table lay,
Forgetting Tilly’s tricks.
Immediately upon her nose
She placed the glasses wide,
Then looking round, as I suppose,
The snuff-box, too, she spied.
So thumb and finger went to work,
To move the stubborn lid;
And as she gave it quite a jerk,
Much mischief then she did.
The snuff came puffing in her face
And eyes and nose and chin,
And as she ran about for ease,
The snuff got farther in.
She dashed the spectacles away
To wipe her tingling eyes;
And there in twenty bits they lay,
As grandmamma she spies.
She then, while smarting with the pain,
Sneezing, and sick and sore,
Made many a promise to refrain
From meddling any more.
A GOOD NAME
Children, choose it,
Don’t refuse it,
’Tis a precious diadem;
Highly prize it,
Don’t despise it,
You will need it when you’re men.
Love and cherish,
Keep and nourish,
’Tis more precious far than gold;
Watch and guard it,
Don’t discard it,
You will need it when you’re old.
TRUST AND TRY
“Cannot,” Edward, did you say?
Chase the lazy thought away;
Never let that idle word
From your lips again be heard.
Take your book from off the shelf,
God helps him who helps himself;
O’er your lesson do not sigh:
Trust and try--trust and try.
“Cannot,” Edward? Say not so:
All are weak, full well I know;
But if you will seek the Lord,
He will needful strength afford,
Teach you how to conquer sin,
Purify your heart within:
On your Father’s help rely,
Trust and try--trust and try.
“Cannot,” Edward? Scorn the thought;
You can do whatever you ought:
Every duty’s call obey,
Strive to walk in wisdom’s way;
Let the sluggard, if he will,
Use the lazy “cannot” still;
On yourself and God rely:
Trust and try--trust and try.
PERSEVERE
Go on, go on, go on, go on,
Go on, go on, go on,
Go on, go on, go on, go on,
Go on, _go on_, GO ON!
THE GENEROUS HEART
Be the portion small or great,
The loving, generous heart
Will always find it large enough
To give away a part.
BUSY LITTLE FARMER
I’m a little husbandman,
Work and labor hard I can;
I’m as happy all the day
At my work as if ’twere play:
Though I’ve nothing fine to wear,
Yet for that I do not care.
When to work I go along,
Singing loud my morning song,
With my wallet on my back,
And my wagon-whip to crack,
Oh, I’m thrice as happy then
As the idle gentleman.
I’ve a hearty appetite
And I soundly sleep at night;
Down I lie content, and say
I’ve been useful all the day:
I’d rather be a ploughboy, than
A useless little gentleman.
IS IT YOU?
There is a child, a boy or girl--
I’m sorry it is true--
Who does not mind when spoken to:
I hope it isn’t you!
There is a child, a boy or girl--
I trust that such are few--
Who struck a little playmate friend:
I hope it wasn’t you!
I know a child, a boy or girl--
I’m sorry that I do--
Who told a lie; yes, told a lie!
It cannot be ’twas you!
There is a boy--I know the boy--
I cannot love him, though--
Who robs the little birdie’s nest:
That bad boy can’t be you!
There is a girl, a girl I know,
And I could love her too,
But that she’s very proud and vain:
That surely isn’t you!
DAISY’S PRAYER
Darling little Daisy,
With her golden hair,
Sitting at the table
In her own high chair;
Closed the dewy eyelids
Over blue eyes bright,
Drooped the golden lashes
Over cheeks so white,
Bent above the table
Little head so fair;
Daisy’s supper’s waiting
Till she says her prayer.
So she clasps her fingers
As when wont to pray;
“Oh, dear me,” sighs Daisy,
“What does papa say?”
Lower bows her forehead
O’er the table then;
And she whispers softly,
“Jesus’ sake, Amen.”
Darling little Daisy,
With your winsome face,
May the blessed Saviour
Daily give his grace!
May you never venture
Any path to take
Till you ask God’s blessing
For dear Jesus’ sake.
THE SHADOWS
The candles are lighted, the fires blaze bright,
The curtains are drawn to keep out the cold air;
What makes you so grave, little darling, to-night?
And where is your smile, little quiet one, where?
“Mamma, I see something so dark on the wall;
It moves up and down, and it looks very strange;
Sometimes it is big, sometimes it is small;
Pray tell me what is it, and why does it change?”
It’s only my shadow that puzzles you so;
And there is your own close beside it, my love:
Now run ’round the room, it will go where you go;
When you sit ’twill be still, when you rise it will move.
And when you are out some fine day in the sun,
I’ll take you where shadows of apple-trees lie;
And houses and cottages, too, every one
Casts a shade when the sun’s shining bright in the sky.
[Illustration: Girl with candle]
Now hold up your mouth and give me a sweet kiss--
Our shadows kiss too--don’t you see it quite plain?
“Oh, yes; and I thank you for telling me this;
I’ll not be afraid of a shadow again.”
CHILD’S SELF-EXAMINATION
Ere I in sleep my eyelids fold
These things I must in memory hold:
What I’ve been doing all the day--
What were my acts at work or play?
What have I learnt that’s worth the knowing?
What have I done that’s worth the doing?
What have I done that I should not?
What duty was this day forgot?
Ere I in sleep my eyelids fold
These things I must in memory hold:
If I’ve done ill, then I must pray
That God would wash my sins away,
And for the merits of his Son
Forgive the evil I have done;
Then, pardoned daily, filled with love,
I’ll be prepared to dwell above,
And there, with angels ‘round the throne,
The love of God forever own.
[Illustration: Face of young girl]
LITTLE STAR
Good-night, little star;
I will go to my bed
And leave you to burn,
While I lay down my head
On my pillow to sleep
Till the morning light;
When you will be fading,
And I shall be bright.
GOOD-NIGHT
Good-night, my dear mother--dear mother, good-night;
You may take out the lamp and shut the door tight:
Your dear little Ellen will not be afraid,
Though left quite alone in her own quiet bed.
Afraid, my dear mother, afraid, when I know
God watches on high, while you watch below?
And though the thick darkness all round me is spread,
I know that from him I can never be hid.
WHY SHOULD I FEAR?
I will not fear,
For God is near.
Through the dark night
As in the light;
And while I sleep
Safe watch will keep.
Why should I fear,
When God is near?
A SONG TO BRING SLEEP
Two little eyes,
Two little lips,
Two little hands,
Two little feet:
What shall we ask for them all?
Two little eyes,
Blue, blue,
Blue as the azure deep of the skies--
Now so roguish, now wondrous wise,
Solemn and funny, all in a twink,
Changing and changing with every wink:
What shall we ask for these little eyes?
Open them, Lord,
To see in thy Word
Wondrous things;
Light them with love,
And shade them above
With angels’ wings.
Two little lips,
Red, red,
Red as the flamy coral tips,
Sweet as the rose the wild bee sips,
Singing and prattling all day long,
And kissing and coaxing with witchery strong:
What shall we ask for these little lips?
From thine altar, Lord, above,
Touch those lips with fire of love;
Pure, pure let them be,
Speaking holy melodies
Out of a holy heart that rise,
Warm, bright, up to thee!
Two little hands,
Busy, busy,
Busy as bird and busy as bee,
Gathering “funny things” for me.
Weaving webs, and building a house
“Just the size for a wee, wee mouse”:
What shall we ask for these little hands?
Lord, with wisdom filled,
Teach these hands to build
Thine own temple;
Let them skilful be--
Cunning to work for thee
By thine example.
Two little feet,
Nimble, nimble,
Trot-foot and Light-foot, oh, what a pair;
Now here, now there, now everywhere:
Running of errands, dancing in glee,
Skipping and jumping merrily:
What shall we ask for these little feet?
Lead them a blessed pilgrimage,
From childhood through to saintly age,
Dear Lord, we pray:
Hold them a light in the dim, dark night,
And out of the narrow path of the right
Ne’er let them stray!
Two little eyes--closed!
Two little lips--shut!
Two little hands--clasped!
Two little feet--still!
God give my darling pleasant dreams!
GOING TO REST
When darkness veils the distant hill,
The little birds are hid and still;
And I my sweet repose may take,
Since my Creator is awake:
How sweet upon my little bed
Since my Creator guards my head,
And doth the little infant keep
Through all the hours of silent sleep.
AT CLOSE OF DAY
At close of day, with petals pressed,
Each little rosebud sinks to rest.
Each little bird, too tired to sing,
At close of day must fold its wing.
Each little child at close of day
Kneels at his mother’s knee to pray;
Then, like the happy outdoor things,
He, too, must softly close his wings.
HO FOR SLUMBERLAND
When the little ones get drowsy and heavy lids droop down
To hide blue eyes and black eyes, gray eyes and eyes of brown,
A thousand boats for Dreamland are waiting in a row,
And the ferrymen are calling, “For the Slumber Islands, ho!”
Then the sleepy little children fill the boats along the shore,
And go sailing off to Dreamland; and the dipping of the oar
In the Sea of Sleep makes music that the children only know
When they answer to the boatmen’s “For the Slumber Islands, ho!”
CHORUS
Ho, ho, ho! in Dreamland boats we go,
Row, row, row, oh, Boatman, gently row,
Low, low, low, sing, wavelets, sing below;
Along the tide of Sleep we glide
To Slumber Islands, ho!
SLUMBER ISLANDS
K. E. C. (_Chorus, with motion_[1]) K. E. C.
Ho, ho, ho! in Dreamland boats we go,
Row, row, row, oh, Boatman, gently row,
Low, low, low, sing, wavelets, sing below; Along
the tide of Sleep we glide To Slumber Islands, ho!
[1] The rowing of a boat
ASLEEP
While mother birdlets murmur--“Peep!
Sleep, nestlings, sleep!”
And tired Margery’s flaxen head
Is resting on the cradle bed;
The babe, its white lids closed, afloat
In dreams, swings light in its fairy boat,
Sleep, nestlings, sleep.
_K. E. C._
[Illustration: Girl sleeping by infant in crib]
LITTLE POOR RELATIONS
I am only a little sparrow,
A bird of low degree;
My life is of little value,
But the dear Lord cares for me.
[Illustration: Woman with two girls and dogs]
LITTLE POOR RELATIONS
LITTLE, BUT WISE
Who showed the little ant the way
Her narrow hole to bore,
And spend the pleasant summer day
In laying up her store?
The sparrow builds her clever nest
Of wool and hay and moss;
Who told her how to weave it best,
And lay the twigs across?
Who taught the busy bee to fly
Among the sweetest flowers,
And lay his feast of honey by,
To eat in winter hours?
’Twas God who showed them all the way,
And gave their little skill;
And teaches children, if they pray,
To do his holy will.
LITTLE DOG
I’ll never hurt a little dog,
But stroke and pat his head;
I like to see him wag his tail,
I like to see him fed.
Then I will never whip my dog,
Nor ever give him pain;
Poor fellow, I will give him food,
And he’ll love me again.
MY PUSSY
Oh! here is Miss Pussy;
She’s drinking her milk;
Her coat is as soft
And as glossy as silk.
She sips it all up
With her little lap-lap;
Then wiping her whiskers,
Lies down for a nap.
My kitty is gentle,
She loves me right well,
And how funny at playing
No language can tell.
Now under the sofa,
Now under the table,
She laughs and says, “Catch me!”
As she only is able.
Oh, dearly I love her!
And you never did spy
Two happier playmates
Than kitty and I.
[Illustration: Two kittens]
KITTY AND MOUSIE
Once there was a little kitty,
White as the snow;
In the barn she used to frolic,
Long time ago.
In the barn a little mousie
Ran to and fro;
For she heard the little kitty,
Long time ago.
Two black eyes had little kitty,
Black as a crow,
And they spied the little mousie,
Long time ago.
Four soft paws had little kitty,
Paws soft as dough,
And they caught the little mousie,
Long time ago.
Nine pearl teeth had little kitty,
All in a row,
And they bit the little mousie,
Long time ago.
When the teeth bit little mousie,
Mousie cried out, “Oh!”
But she got away from kitty,
Long time ago.
KINDNESS TO ANIMALS
I like little pussy, her coat is so warm,
And if I don’t hurt her, she’ll do me no harm;
So I’ll not pull her tail, nor drive her away,
But pussy and I very gently will play:
She shall sit by my side and I’ll give her some food;
And she’ll love me because I am gentle and good.
I’ll pat little pussy, and then she will purr,
And thus show her thanks for my kindness to her;
I’ll not pinch her ears, nor tread on her paw,
Lest I should provoke her to use her sharp claw;
I never will vex her nor make her displeased,
For pussy don’t like to be worried and teased.
GENTLE BOSSY
Thank you, pretty cow, that made
Pleasant milk to soak my bread,
Every day and every night,
Warm and fresh, and sweet and white.
Do not chew the hemlock rank,
Growing on the weedy bank;
But the yellow cowslip eat,
That will make it very sweet.
Where the purple violet grows,
Where the bubbling water flows,
Where the grass is fresh and fine,
Pretty cow, go there and dine.
WHEN THE COWS COME HOME
With klingle, klangle, klingle,
Way down the dusty dingle,
The cows are coming home;
Now sweet and clear, and faint and low,
The airy twinklings come and go,
Like chimings from some far-off tower,
Or patterings of an April shower
That makes the daisies grow;
Ko-ling ko-lang, kolinglelingle,
Way down the darkening dingle,
The cows come slowly home.
(And old-time friends, and twilight plays,
And starry nights and sunny days,
Come trooping up the misty ways,
When the cows come home.)
With klingle, klangle, klingle,
With loo-oo, and moo-oo and jingle,
The cows are coming home;
And over there on Merlin Hill
Hear the plaintive cry of the whip-poor-will,
And the dew-drops lie on the tangled vines,
And over the poplars Venus shines,
And over the silent mill;
Ko-ling, ko-lang, kolinglelingle,
With ting-a-ling and jingle,
The cows come slowly home.
(Let down the bars; let in the train
Of long-gone songs, and flowers and rain,
For dear old time’s come back again,
When the cows come home.)
—_Mrs. Agnes E. Mitchell._
THE NAUGHTY CHICK
A little chick who loved to roam,
One day, one awful day,
Got through the fence and left his home,
Alas! alackaday!
He saw a lovely butterfly,
He saw a bumbly-bee;
He chased the lovely butterfly,
And then he chased the bee.
The butterfly went soaring high,
But, oh, he caught the bee!
And when that bee had flown away
A wiser chick was he!
When to his mother hen at night,
A sad, fat chick, he went,
So swollen up with bumbly stings,
For Dr. Dick she sent,
Who put a poultice on his tongue,
Another on his head,
Another on his sprouting tail,
And sent him off to bed.
—_Margaret Gabbie Hays._
HEN AND CHICKENS