And tie them 'neath each little chin.
Then, shopping done, the Fairies cry,
"Our Summer's gone! oh sweet, good-bye!"
And sadly to their caves they go,
To hide away from Winter's snow--
And then, though winds and storms may beat,
The Fairies' sleep is warm and sweet!
Margaret Deland.
_Fable_
The mountain and the squirrel
Had a quarrel,
And the former called the latter "Little Prig."
Bun replied:
"You are doubtless very big;
But all sorts of things and weather
Must be taken in together
To make up a year
And a sphere;
And I think it no disgrace
To occupy my place.
If I'm not so large as you,
You are not so small as I,
And not half so spry.
I'll not deny you make
A very pretty squirrel track;
Talents differ; all is well and wisely put;
If I cannot carry forests on my back
Neither can you crack a nut!"
Ralph Waldo Emerson.
_A Midsummer Song_
Oh, father's gone to market-town: he was up before the day,
And Jamie's after robins, and the man is making hay,
And whistling down the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill,
While mother from the kitchen-door is calling with a will,
"Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn!
Oh, where's Polly?"
From all the misty morning air there comes a summer sound,
A murmur as of waters, from skies and trees and ground.
The birds they sing upon the wing, the pigeons bill and coo;
And over hill and hollow rings again the loud halloo:
"Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn!
Oh, where's Polly?"
Above the trees, the honey-bees swarm by with buzz and boom,
And in the field and garden a thousand blossoms bloom.
Within the farmer's meadow a brown-eyed daisy blows,
And down at the edge of the hollow a red and thorny rose.
But Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn!
Oh, where's Polly?
How strange at such a time of day the mill should stop its clatter!
The farmer's wife is listening now, and wonders what's the matter.
Oh, wild the birds are singing in the wood and on the hill,
While whistling up the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill.
But Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn!
Oh, where's Polly!
Richard Watson Gilder.
_The Fairies of the Caldon-Low_
"And where have you been, my Mary,
And where have you been from me?"
"I've been to the top of the Caldon-Low,
The midsummer night to see!"
"And what did you see, my Mary,
All up on the Caldon-Low?"
"I saw the blithe sunshine come down,
And I saw the merry winds blow."
"And what did you hear, my Mary,
All up on the Caldon Hill?"
"I heard the drops of water made,
And I heard the corn-ears fill."
"Oh, tell me all, my Mary--
All, all that ever you know;
For you must have seen the fairies
Last night on the Caldon-Low."
"Then take me on your knee, mother,
And listen, mother of mine:
A hundred fairies danced last night,
And the harpers they were nine;
"And merry was the glee of the harp-strings,
And their dancing feet so small;
But oh! the sound of their talking
Was merrier far than all!"
"And what were the words, my Mary,
That you did hear them say?"
"I'll tell you all, my mother,
But let me have my way.
"And some they played with the water
And rolled it down the hill;
'And this,' they said, 'shall speedily turn
The poor old miller's mill;
"'For there has been no water
Ever since the first of May;
And a busy man shall the miller be
By the dawning of the day!
"'Oh, the miller, how he will laugh,
When he sees the mill-dam rise!
The jolly old miller, how he will laugh,
Till the tears fill both his eyes!'
"And some they seized the little winds,
That sounded over the hill,
And each put a horn into his mouth,
And blew so sharp and shrill!
"'And there,' said they, 'the merry winds go,
Away from every horn;
And those shall clear the mildew dank
From the blind old widow's corn:
"'Oh, the poor blind widow--
Though she has been blind so long,
She'll be merry enough when the mildew's gone,
And the corn stands stiff and strong!'
"And some they brought the brown linseed,
And flung it down from the Low:
'And this,' said they, 'by the sunrise,
In the weaver's croft shall grow!
"'Oh, the poor lame weaver!
How will he laugh outright
When he sees his dwindling flax-field
All full of flowers by night!'
"And then upspoke a brownie,
With a long beard on his chin;
'I have spun up all the tow,' said he,
'And I want some more to spin.
"'I've spun a piece of hempen cloth,
And I want to spin another--
A little sheet for Mary's bed
And an apron for her mother.'
"And with that I could not help but laugh,
And I laughed out loud and free;
And then on the top of the Caldon-Low,
There was no one left but me.
"And all on the top of the Caldon-Low
The mists were cold and gray,
And nothing I saw but the mossy stones
That round about me lay.
"But, as I came down from the hill-top,
I heard, afar below,
How busy the jolly old miller was,
And how merry the wheel did go!
"And I peeped into the widow's field,
And, sure enough, was seen
The yellow ears of the mildewed corn
All standing stiff and green!
"And down by the weaver's croft I stole,
To see if the flax were high;
But I saw the weaver at his gate
With the good news in his eye!
"Now, this is all that I heard, mother,
And all that I did see;
So, prithee, make my bed, mother,
For I'm tired as I can be!"
Mary Howitt.
_The Elf and the Dormouse_
Under a toadstool
Crept a wee Elf,
Out of the rain,
To shelter himself.
Under the toadstool
Sound asleep,
Sat a big Dormouse
All in a heap.
Trembled the wee Elf,
Frightened, and yet
Fearing to fly away
Lest he get wet.
To the next shelter--
Maybe a mile!
Sudden the wee Elf
Smiled a wee smile,
Tugged till the toadstool
Toppled in two.
Holding it over him,
Gayly he flew.
Soon he was safe home,
Dry as could be.
Soon woke the Dormouse--
"Good gracious me!
"Where is my toadstool?"
Loud he lamented.
--And that's how umbrellas
First were invented.
Oliver Herford.
_Meg Merrilies_
Old Meg she was a gipsy,
And lived upon the moors;
Her bed it was the brown heath turf,
And her house was out of doors.
Her apples were swart blackberries,
Her currants pods o' broom;
Her wine was dew of the wild white rose,
Her book a churchyard tomb.
Her brothers were the craggy hills,
Her sisters larchen-trees;
Alone with her great family
She lived as she did please.
No breakfast had she many a morn,
No dinner many a noon,
And 'stead of supper she would stare
Full hard against the moon.
But every morn of woodbine fresh
She made her garlanding,
And every night the dark glen yew
She wore; and she would sing,
And with her fingers old and brown
She plaited mats of rushes,
And gave them to the cottagers
She met among the bushes.
Old Meg was brave as Margaret Queen,
And tall as Amazon;
An old red blanket cloak she wore,
A ship-hat had she on;
God rest her aged bones somewhere!
She died full long agone!
John Keats.
_Romance_
I saw a ship a-sailing,
A-sailing on the sea;
Her masts were of the shining gold,
Her deck of ivory;
And sails of silk, as soft as milk,
And silvern shrouds had she.
And round about her sailing,
The sea was sparkling white,
The waves all clapped their hands and sang
To see so fair a sight.
They kissed her twice, they kissed her thrice,
And murmured with delight.
Then came the gallant captain,
And stood upon the deck;
In velvet coat, and ruffles white,
Without a spot or speck;
And diamond rings, and triple strings
Of pearls around his neck.
And four-and-twenty sailors
Were round him bowing low;
On every jacket three times three
Gold buttons in a row;
And cutlasses down to their knees;
They made a goodly show.
And then the ship went sailing,
A-sailing o'er the sea;
She dived beyond the setting sun,
But never back came she,
For she found the lands of the golden sands,
Where the pearls and diamonds be.
Gabriel Setoun.
_The Cow-Boy's Song_
"Mooly cow, mooly cow, home from the wood
They sent me to fetch you as fast as I could.
The sun has gone down: it is time to go home.
Mooly cow, mooly cow, why don't you come?
Your udders are full, and the milkmaid is there,
And the children are waiting their supper to share.
I have let the long bars down,--why don't you pass through?"
The mooly cow only said, "Moo-o-o!"
"Mooly cow, mooly cow, have you not been
Regaling all day where the pastures are green?
No doubt it was pleasant, dear mooly, to see
The clear running brook and the wide-spreading tree,
The clover to crop and the streamlet to wade,
To drink the cool water and lie in the shade;
But now it is night: they are waiting for you."
The mooly cow only said, "Moo-o-o!"
"Mooly cow, mooly cow, where do you go,
When all the green pastures are covered with snow?
You go to the barn and we feed you with hay,
And the maid goes to milk you there, every day;
She speaks to you kindly and sits by your side,
She pats you, she loves you, she strokes your sleek hide:
Then come along home, pretty mooly cow, do."
But the mooly cow only said, "Moo-o-o!"
"Mooly cow, mooly cow, whisking your tail,
The milkmaid is waiting, I say, with her pail;
She tucks up her petticoats, tidy and neat,
And places the three-legged stool for her seat:--
What can you be staring at, mooly? You know
That we ought to have gone home an hour ago.
How dark it is growing! O, what shall I do?"
The mooly cow only said, "Moo-o-o!"
Anna M. Wells.
IX
BED TIME[A]
_When the golden day is done,
Through the closing portal,
Child and garden, flower and sun,
Vanish all things mortal._
_Robert Louis Stevenson._
FOOTNOTE:
[A] _From "A Child's Garden of Verses," by Robert Louis Stevenson. By
permission of Charles Scribner's Sons._
BED-TIME
_Auld Daddy Darkness_
Auld Daddy Darkness creeps frae his hole,
Black as a blackamoor, blin' as a mole:
Stir the fire till it lowes, let the bairnie sit,
Auld Daddy Darkness is no wantit yet.
See him in the corners hidin' frae the licht,
See him at the window gloomin' at the nicht;
Turn up the gas licht, close the shutters a',
An' Auld Daddy Darkness will flee far awa'.
Awa' to hide the birdie within its cosy nest,
Awa' to lap the wee flooers on their mither's breast,
Awa' to loosen Gaffer Toil frae his daily ca',
For Auld Daddy Darkness is kindly to a'.
He comes when we're weary to wean's frae oor waes,
He comes when the bairnies are getting aff their claes;
To cover them sae cosy, an' bring bonnie dreams,
So Auld Daddy Darkness is better than he seems.
Steek yer een, my wee tot, ye'll see Daddy then;
He's in below the bed claes, to cuddle ye he's fain;
Noo nestle in his bosie, sleep and dream yer fill,
Till Wee Davie Daylicht comes keekin' owre the hill.
James Ferguson.
_Wynken, Blynken, and Nod_[A]
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe--
Sailed on a river of crystal light,
Into a sea of dew.
"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
The old moon asked the three.
"We have come to fish for the herring fish
That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we!"
Said Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
The old moon laughed and sang a song,
As they rocked in the wooden shoe,
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled the waves of dew.
The little stars were the herring fish
That lived in that beautiful sea--
"Now cast your nets wherever you wish--
Never afeard are we";
So cried the stars to the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
All night long their nets they threw
To the stars in the twinkling foam--
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
Bringing the fishermen home;
'Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed
As if it could not be,
And some folks thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed
Of sailing that beautiful sea--
But I shall name you the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
Is a wee one's trundle-bed.
So shut your eyes while mother sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
As you rock in the misty sea,
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three,
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
Eugene Field.
FOOTNOTE:
[A] _From "With Trumpet and Drum," by Eugene Field. Copyright, 1892, by
Charles Scribner's Sons._
_Rockaby, Lullaby_[A]
Rockaby, lullaby, bees on the clover!--
Crooning so drowsily, crying so low--
Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover!
Down into wonderland--
Down to the under-land--
Go, oh go!
Down into wonderland go!
Rockaby, lullaby, rain on the clover!
Tears on the eyelids that struggle and weep!
Rockaby, lullaby--bending it over!
Down on the mother world,
Down on the other world!
Sleep, oh sleep!
Down on the mother-world sleep!
Rockaby, lullaby, dew on the clover!
Dew on the eyes that will sparkle at dawn!
Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover!
Into the stilly world!
Into the lily world,
Gone! oh gone!
Into the lily world, gone!
Josiah Gilbert Holland.
FOOTNOTE:
[A] _From "The Poetical Works of J. G. Holland." Copyright, 1881, by
Charles Scribner's Sons._
_Sleep, My Treasure_
Sleep, sleep, my treasure,
The long day's pleasure
Has tired the birds, to their nests they creep;
The garden still is
Alight with lilies,
But all the daisies are fast asleep.
Sleep, sleep, my darling,
Dawn wakes the starling,
The sparrow stirs when he sees day break;
But all the meadow
Is wrapped in shadow,
And you must sleep till the daisies wake!
E. Nesbit.
_Lullaby of an Infant Chief_
Oh, hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight,
Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright;
The woods and the glens from the tower which we see,
They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee.
Oh, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows,
It calls but the warders that guard thy repose;
Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red,
Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed.
Oh, hush thee, my babie, the time will soon come,
When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum;
Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may,
For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day.
Sir Walter Scott.
_Sweet and Low_
Sweet and low, sweet and low,
Wind of the western sea,
Low, low, breathe and blow,
Wind of the western sea!
Over the rolling waters go,
Come from the dying moon, and blow,
Blow him again to me:
While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.
Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,
Father will come to thee soon;
Rest, rest, on mother's breast,
Father will come to thee soon;
Father will come to his babe in the nest,
Silver sails all out of the west
Under the silver moon:
Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson.
_Old Gaelic Lullaby_
Hush! the waves are rolling in,
White with foam, white with foam;
Father toils amid the din;
But baby sleeps at home.
Hush! the winds roar hoarse and deep,--
On they come, on they come!
Brother seeks the wandering sheep:
But baby sleeps at home.
Hush! the rain sweeps o'er the knowes,
Where they roam, where they roam;
Sister goes to seek the cows;
But baby sleeps at home.
Unknown.
_The Sandman_
The rosy clouds float overhead,
The sun is going down;
And now the sandman's gentle tread
Comes stealing through the town.
"White sand, white sand," he softly cries,
And as he shakes his hand,
Straightway there lies on babies' eyes
His gift of shining sand.
Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown,
As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.
From sunny beaches far away--
Yes, in another land--
He gathers up at break of day
His store of shining sand.
No tempests beat that shore remote,
No ships may sail that way;
His little boat alone may float
Within that lovely bay.
Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown,
As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.
He smiles to see the eyelids close
Above the happy eyes;
And every child right well he knows,--
Oh, he is very wise!
But if, as he goes through the land,
A naughty baby cries,
His other hand takes dull gray sand
To close the wakeful eyes.
Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown,
As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.
So when you hear the sandman's song
Sound through the twilight sweet,
Be sure you do not keep him long
A-waiting on the street.
Lie softly down, dear little head,
Rest quiet, busy hands,
Till, by your bed his good-night said,
He strews the shining sands.
Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown,
As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.
Margaret Vandegrift.
_The Cottager to Her Infant_
The days are cold, the nights are long,
The north-wind sings a doleful song;
Then hush again upon my breast;
All merry things are now at rest,
Save thee, my pretty Love!
The kitten sleeps upon the hearth,
The crickets long have ceased their mirth;
There's nothing stirring in the house
Save one wee, hungry nibbling mouse,
Then why so busy thou?
Nay! start not at that sparkling light,
'Tis but the moon that shines so bright
On the window-pane bedropped with rain;
There, little darling! sleep again,
And wake when it is day.
Dorothy Wordsworth.
_A Charm to Call Sleep_
Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep,
Come to my blankets and come to my bed,
Come to my legs and my arms and my head,
Over me, under me, into me creep.
Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep,
Blow on my face like a soft breath of air,
Lay your cool hand on my forehead and hair,
Carry me down through the dream-waters deep.
Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep,
Tell me the secrets that you alone know,
Show me the wonders none other can show,
Open the box where your treasures you keep.
Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep:
Softly I call you; as soft and as slow
Come to me, cuddle me, stay with me so,
Stay till the dawn is beginning to peep.
Henry Johnstone.
_Night_
The snow is white, the wind is cold--
The king has sent for my three-year-old.
Bring the pony and shoe him fast
With silver shoes that were made to last.
Bring the saddle trimmed with gold;
Put foot in stirrup, my three-year-old;
Jump in the saddle, away, away!
And hurry back by the break of day;
By break of day, through dale and down,
And bring me the news from Slumbertown.
Mary F. Butts.
_Bed-Time_
'Tis bed-time; say your hymn, and bid "Good night,
"God bless mamma, papa, and dear ones all."
Your half-shut eyes beneath your eye-lids fall;
Another minute you will shut them quite.
Yes, I will carry you, put out the light,
And tuck you up, although you are so tall.
What will you give me, Sleepy One, and call
My wages, if I settle you all right?
I laid her golden curls upon my arm,
I drew her little feet within my hand;
Her rosy palms were joined in trustful bliss,
Her heart next mine, beat gently, soft and warm;
She nestled to me, and, by Love's command,
Paid me my precious wages,--Baby's kiss.
Lord Rosslyn.
_Nightfall in Dordrecht_[A]
The mill goes toiling slowly around
With steady and solemn creak,
And my little one hears in the kindly sound
The voice of the old mill speak.
While round and round those big white wings
Grimly and ghostlike creep,
My little one hears that the old mill sings:
"Sleep, little tulip, sleep!"
The sails are reefed and the nets are drawn,
And, over his pot of beer,
The fisher, against the morrow's dawn,
Lustily maketh cheer;
He mocks at the winds that caper along
From the far-off clamorous deep--
But we--we love their lullaby song
Of "Sleep, little tulip, sleep!"
Old dog Fritz in slumber sound
Groans of the stony mart--
To-morrow how proudly he'll trot you round,
Hitched to our new milk-cart!
And you shall help me blanket the kine
And fold the gentle sheep
And set the herring a-soak in brine--
But now, little tulip, sleep!
A Dream-One comes to button the eyes
That wearily droop and blink,
While the old mill buffets the frowning skies
And scolds at the stars that wink;
Over your face the misty wings
Of that beautiful Dream-One sweep,
And rocking your cradle she softly sings:
"Sleep, little tulip, sleep!"
Eugene Field.
FOOTNOTE:
[A] _From "With Trumpet and Drum," by Eugene Field. Copyright, 1892, by
Charles Scribner's Sons._
X
FOR SUNDAY'S CHILD
_Sunday's child is full of grace._
_Old Proverb._
FOR SUNDAY'S CHILD
_All Things Bright and Beautiful_
All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.
Each little flower that opens,
Each little bird that sings,
He made their glowing colours,
He made their tiny wings.
The rich man in his castle,
The poor man at his gate,
God made them, high or lowly,
And order'd their estate.
The purple-headed mountain,
The river running by,
The sunset and the morning,
That brightens up the sky;--
The cold wind in the winter,
The pleasant summer sun,
The ripe fruits in the garden,--
He made them every one;
The tall trees in the greenwood,
The meadows where we play,
The rushes by the water
We gather every day;--
He gave us eyes to see them,
And lips that we might tell,
How great is God Almighty,
Who has made all things well.
Cecil Frances Alexander.
_The Still Small Voice_
Wee Sandy in the corner
Sits greeting on a stool,
And sair the laddie rues
Playing truant frae the school;
Then ye'll learn frae silly Sandy,
Wha's gotten sic a fright,
To do naething through the day
That may gar ye greet at night.
He durstna venture hame now,
Nor play, though e'er so fine,
And ilka ane he met wi'
He thought them sure to ken,
And started at ilk whin bush,
Though it was braid daylight--
Sae do nothing through the day
That may gar ye greet at night.
Wha winna be advised
Are sure to rue ere lang;
And muckle pains it costs them
To do the thing that's wrang,
When they wi' half the fash o't
Might aye be in the right,
And do naething through the day
That would gar them greet at night.
What fools are wilfu' bairns,
Who misbehave frae hame!
There's something in the breast aye
That tells them they're to blame;
And then when comes the gloamin',
They're in a waefu' plight!
Sae do naething through the day
That may gar ye greet at night.
Alexander Smart.
_The Camel's Nose_
Once in his shop a workman wrought,
With languid head and listless thought,
When, through the open window's space,
Behold, a camel thrust his face!
"My nose is cold," he meekly cried;
"Oh, let me warm it by thy side!"
Since no denial word was said,
In came the nose, in came the head:
As sure as sermon follows text,
The long and scraggy neck came next;
And then, as falls the threatening storm,
In leaped the whole ungainly form.
Aghast the owner gazed around,
And on the rude invader frowned,
Convinced, as closer still he pressed,
There was no room for such a guest;
Yet more astonished, heard him say,
"If thou art troubled, go away,
For in this place I choose to stay."
O youthful hearts to gladness born,
Treat not this Arab lore with scorn!
To evil habits' earliest wile
Lend neither ear, nor glance, nor smile.
Choke the dark fountain ere it flows,
Nor e'en admit the camel's nose!
Lydia H. Sigourney.
_A Child's Grace_
Some hae meat and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it;
But we hae meat and we can eat,
And sae the Lord be thankit.
Robert Burns.
_A Child's Thought of God_
They say that God lives very high!
But if you look above the pines
You cannot see our God. And why?
And if you dig down in the mines
You never see Him in the gold,
Though from Him all that's glory shines.
God is so good, He wears a fold
Of heaven and earth across His face--
Like secrets kept, for love, untold.
But still I feel that His embrace
Slides down by thrills, through all things made,
Through sight and sound of every place:
As if my tender mother laid
On my shut lids, her kisses' pressure,
Half-waking me at night; and said
"Who kissed you through the dark, dear guesser?"
Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
_The Lamb_
Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee,
Gave thee life and bade thee feed
By the stream and o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Little lamb, I'll tell thee;
Little lamb, I'll tell thee.
He is called by thy name,
For He calls himself a Lamb.
He is meek and He is mild,
He became a little child.
I a child and thou a lamb,
We are called by His name.
Little lamb, God bless thee!
Little lamb, God bless thee!
William Blake.
_Night and Day_[A]
When I run about all day,
When I kneel at night to pray,
God sees.
When I'm dreaming in the dark,
When I lie awake and hark,
God sees.
Need I ever know a fear?
Night and day my Father's near:--
God sees.
Mary Mapes Dodge.
FOOTNOTE:
[A] _From "Rhymes and Jingles," by Mary Mapes Dodge. By permission of
Charles Scribner's Sons._
_High and Low_[A]
The showers fall as softly
Upon the lowly grass
As on the stately roses
That tremble as they pass.