Recitations for the Sunday-school.

It is so difficult to obtain really good selections to be recited at Sunday-school anniversaries and similar occasions, that those here presented will be much appreciated. They have the merit of containing good sentiments and are therefore appropriate. The best lessons for young and old are often conveyed in simple language.

Oh, what can little hands doTo please the King of heaven?The little hands some work may tryTo help the poor in misery;—Such grace to mine be given.Oh, what can little lips doTo please the King of heaven?The little lips can praise and pray,And gentle words of kindness say:—Such grace to mine be given.Oh, what can little eyes doTo please the King of heaven?The little eyes can upward look,Can learn to read God’s holy book;—Such grace to mine be given.Oh, what can little hearts doTo please the King of heaven?The hearts, if God his Spirit send,Can love and trust the children’s Friend;—Such grace to mine be given.When hearts, eyes, lips and hands uniteTo please the King of heaven,And serve the Saviour with delight,They are most precious in his sight;—Such grace to mine be given.

Oh, what can little hands doTo please the King of heaven?The little hands some work may tryTo help the poor in misery;—Such grace to mine be given.

Oh, what can little hands do

To please the King of heaven?

The little hands some work may try

To help the poor in misery;—

Such grace to mine be given.

Oh, what can little lips doTo please the King of heaven?The little lips can praise and pray,And gentle words of kindness say:—Such grace to mine be given.

Oh, what can little lips do

To please the King of heaven?

The little lips can praise and pray,

And gentle words of kindness say:—

Such grace to mine be given.

Oh, what can little eyes doTo please the King of heaven?The little eyes can upward look,Can learn to read God’s holy book;—Such grace to mine be given.

Oh, what can little eyes do

To please the King of heaven?

The little eyes can upward look,

Can learn to read God’s holy book;—

Such grace to mine be given.

Oh, what can little hearts doTo please the King of heaven?The hearts, if God his Spirit send,Can love and trust the children’s Friend;—Such grace to mine be given.

Oh, what can little hearts do

To please the King of heaven?

The hearts, if God his Spirit send,

Can love and trust the children’s Friend;—

Such grace to mine be given.

When hearts, eyes, lips and hands uniteTo please the King of heaven,And serve the Saviour with delight,They are most precious in his sight;—Such grace to mine be given.

When hearts, eyes, lips and hands unite

To please the King of heaven,

And serve the Saviour with delight,

They are most precious in his sight;—

Such grace to mine be given.

A little black-eyed boy of fiveThus spake to his mamma:“Do look at all the pretty birds;How beautiful they are!How smooth and glossy are their wings;How beautiful their hue;Besides, mamma, I really thinkThat they arepious, too!”“Why so, my dear?” the mother said,And scarce suppressed a smile;The answer showed a thoughtful head,A heart quite free from guile:“Because, when each one bows his head,His tiny bill to wet,To lift a thankful glance aboveHe never does forget;And so, mamma, it seems to meThat very pious they must be.”Dear child, I would a lesson learnFrom this sweet thought of thine,And heavenward, with a glad heart, turnThese earth-bound eyes of mine;Perfected praise, indeed is given,By babes below, to God in heaven,

A little black-eyed boy of five

Thus spake to his mamma:

“Do look at all the pretty birds;

How beautiful they are!

How smooth and glossy are their wings;

How beautiful their hue;

Besides, mamma, I really think

That they arepious, too!”

“Why so, my dear?” the mother said,And scarce suppressed a smile;The answer showed a thoughtful head,A heart quite free from guile:“Because, when each one bows his head,His tiny bill to wet,To lift a thankful glance aboveHe never does forget;And so, mamma, it seems to meThat very pious they must be.”

“Why so, my dear?” the mother said,

And scarce suppressed a smile;

The answer showed a thoughtful head,

A heart quite free from guile:

“Because, when each one bows his head,

His tiny bill to wet,

To lift a thankful glance above

He never does forget;

And so, mamma, it seems to me

That very pious they must be.”

Dear child, I would a lesson learnFrom this sweet thought of thine,And heavenward, with a glad heart, turnThese earth-bound eyes of mine;Perfected praise, indeed is given,By babes below, to God in heaven,

Dear child, I would a lesson learn

From this sweet thought of thine,

And heavenward, with a glad heart, turn

These earth-bound eyes of mine;

Perfected praise, indeed is given,

By babes below, to God in heaven,

Lord, teach a little child to pray,And oh! accept my prayer;Thou canst hear all the words I say,For Thou art everywhere.A little sparrow cannot fallUnnoticed, Lord by Thee;And though I am so young and small,Thou dost take care of me.Teach me to do whate’er is right,And when I sin, forgive;And make it still my chief delightTo serve Thee while I live.

Lord, teach a little child to pray,And oh! accept my prayer;Thou canst hear all the words I say,For Thou art everywhere.

Lord, teach a little child to pray,

And oh! accept my prayer;

Thou canst hear all the words I say,

For Thou art everywhere.

A little sparrow cannot fallUnnoticed, Lord by Thee;And though I am so young and small,Thou dost take care of me.

A little sparrow cannot fall

Unnoticed, Lord by Thee;

And though I am so young and small,

Thou dost take care of me.

Teach me to do whate’er is right,And when I sin, forgive;And make it still my chief delightTo serve Thee while I live.

Teach me to do whate’er is right,

And when I sin, forgive;

And make it still my chief delight

To serve Thee while I live.

God cares for every little childThat on this great earth liveth;He gives them homes and food and clothes,And more than these God giveth;—He gives them all their loving friends;He gives each child its mother;He gives them all the happinessOf loving one another.He makes the earth all beautiful;He gives us eyes to see;And touch and hearing, taste and smell,He gives them all to me.And, better still, he gives his word,Which tells how God’s dear SonGathered the children in his armsAnd loves them—every one.What can a little child give God?From his bright heavens aboveThe great God smiles, and reaches downTo take his children’s love.

God cares for every little childThat on this great earth liveth;He gives them homes and food and clothes,And more than these God giveth;—

God cares for every little child

That on this great earth liveth;

He gives them homes and food and clothes,

And more than these God giveth;—

He gives them all their loving friends;He gives each child its mother;He gives them all the happinessOf loving one another.

He gives them all their loving friends;

He gives each child its mother;

He gives them all the happiness

Of loving one another.

He makes the earth all beautiful;He gives us eyes to see;And touch and hearing, taste and smell,He gives them all to me.

He makes the earth all beautiful;

He gives us eyes to see;

And touch and hearing, taste and smell,

He gives them all to me.

And, better still, he gives his word,Which tells how God’s dear SonGathered the children in his armsAnd loves them—every one.

And, better still, he gives his word,

Which tells how God’s dear Son

Gathered the children in his arms

And loves them—every one.

What can a little child give God?From his bright heavens aboveThe great God smiles, and reaches downTo take his children’s love.

What can a little child give God?

From his bright heavens above

The great God smiles, and reaches down

To take his children’s love.

This beautiful poem is admirably adapted for a church entertainment when spoken by a little girl.

“Now I lay”—say it, darling;“Lay me,” lisped the tiny lipsOf my daughter, kneeling, bendingO’er her folded finger tips.“Down to sleep”—“to sleep,” she murmuredAnd the curly head dropped low;“I pray the Lord”—I gently added,“You can say it all, I know.”“Pray the Lord”—the words came faintly,Fainter still—“my soul to keep;”When the tired head fairly nodded,And the child was fast asleep.But the dewy eyes half opened,When I clasped her to my breast,And the dear voice softly whispered,“Mamma, God knows all the rest.”

“Now I lay”—say it, darling;“Lay me,” lisped the tiny lipsOf my daughter, kneeling, bendingO’er her folded finger tips.

“Now I lay”—say it, darling;

“Lay me,” lisped the tiny lips

Of my daughter, kneeling, bending

O’er her folded finger tips.

“Down to sleep”—“to sleep,” she murmuredAnd the curly head dropped low;“I pray the Lord”—I gently added,“You can say it all, I know.”

“Down to sleep”—“to sleep,” she murmured

And the curly head dropped low;

“I pray the Lord”—I gently added,

“You can say it all, I know.”

“Pray the Lord”—the words came faintly,Fainter still—“my soul to keep;”When the tired head fairly nodded,And the child was fast asleep.

“Pray the Lord”—the words came faintly,

Fainter still—“my soul to keep;”

When the tired head fairly nodded,

And the child was fast asleep.

But the dewy eyes half opened,When I clasped her to my breast,And the dear voice softly whispered,“Mamma, God knows all the rest.”

But the dewy eyes half opened,

When I clasped her to my breast,

And the dear voice softly whispered,

“Mamma, God knows all the rest.”

Suppose the little cowslipShould hang its little cup,And say, “I’m such a tiny flower,I’d better not grow up.”How many a weary travelerWould miss its fragrant smell!How many a little child would grieveTo lose it from the dell!Suppose the glistening dew-dropsUpon the grass should say,“What can a little dew-drop do?I’d better roll away.”The blade on which it rested,Before the day was done,Without a drop to moisten itWould wither in the sun.Suppose the little breezes,Upon a summer’s day,Should think themselves too small to coolThe traveler on his way;Who would not miss the smallestAnd softest ones that blow,And think they made a great mistakeIf they were talking so?How many deeds of kindnessA little child may do,Although it has so little strength,And little wisdom too!It needs a loving spirit,Much more than strength, to proveHow many things a child may doFor others by its love.

Suppose the little cowslip

Should hang its little cup,

And say, “I’m such a tiny flower,

I’d better not grow up.”

How many a weary traveler

Would miss its fragrant smell!

How many a little child would grieve

To lose it from the dell!

Suppose the glistening dew-dropsUpon the grass should say,“What can a little dew-drop do?I’d better roll away.”The blade on which it rested,Before the day was done,Without a drop to moisten itWould wither in the sun.

Suppose the glistening dew-drops

Upon the grass should say,

“What can a little dew-drop do?

I’d better roll away.”

The blade on which it rested,

Before the day was done,

Without a drop to moisten it

Would wither in the sun.

Suppose the little breezes,Upon a summer’s day,Should think themselves too small to coolThe traveler on his way;Who would not miss the smallestAnd softest ones that blow,And think they made a great mistakeIf they were talking so?

Suppose the little breezes,

Upon a summer’s day,

Should think themselves too small to cool

The traveler on his way;

Who would not miss the smallest

And softest ones that blow,

And think they made a great mistake

If they were talking so?

How many deeds of kindnessA little child may do,Although it has so little strength,And little wisdom too!It needs a loving spirit,Much more than strength, to proveHow many things a child may doFor others by its love.

How many deeds of kindness

A little child may do,

Although it has so little strength,

And little wisdom too!

It needs a loving spirit,

Much more than strength, to prove

How many things a child may do

For others by its love.

I believe, if there is one word that grown-up folks are more fond of using to us little folks, than any other word in the big dictionary, it is the word D-o-n-t.It is all the time “Don’t do this,” and “Don’t do that,” and “Don’t do the other,” until I am sometimes afraid there will be nothing left that we can do.Why, for years and years and years, ever since I was a tiny little tot, this word “Don’t” has been my torment. It’s “Lizzie, don’t make a noise, you disturb me,” and “Lizzie, don’t eat so much candy, it will make you sick,” and “Lizzie, don’t be so idle,” and “Don’t talk so much,” and “Don’t soil your clothes,” and “Don’t” everything else. One day I thought I’d count how many times I was told not to do things! Just think! I counted twenty-three “don’ts,” andI think I missed two or three little ones besides.But now it is my turn. I have got a chance to talk, and I’m going to tell some of the big people when to Don’t! That is what my piece is about. First, I shall tell the papas and mammas—Don’t scold the children, just because you have been at a party the night before, and so feel cross and tired. Second, Don’t fret and make wrinkles in your faces over things that cannot be helped. I think fretting spoils big folks just as much as it does us little people. Third, Don’t forget where you put your scissors, and then say you s’pose the children have taken them. Oh! I could tell you ever so many “don’ts,” but I think I’ll only say one more, and that is—Don’t think I mean to be saucy, because all these don’ts are in my piece, and I had to say them.E. C. Rook.

I believe, if there is one word that grown-up folks are more fond of using to us little folks, than any other word in the big dictionary, it is the word D-o-n-t.

It is all the time “Don’t do this,” and “Don’t do that,” and “Don’t do the other,” until I am sometimes afraid there will be nothing left that we can do.

Why, for years and years and years, ever since I was a tiny little tot, this word “Don’t” has been my torment. It’s “Lizzie, don’t make a noise, you disturb me,” and “Lizzie, don’t eat so much candy, it will make you sick,” and “Lizzie, don’t be so idle,” and “Don’t talk so much,” and “Don’t soil your clothes,” and “Don’t” everything else. One day I thought I’d count how many times I was told not to do things! Just think! I counted twenty-three “don’ts,” andI think I missed two or three little ones besides.

But now it is my turn. I have got a chance to talk, and I’m going to tell some of the big people when to Don’t! That is what my piece is about. First, I shall tell the papas and mammas—Don’t scold the children, just because you have been at a party the night before, and so feel cross and tired. Second, Don’t fret and make wrinkles in your faces over things that cannot be helped. I think fretting spoils big folks just as much as it does us little people. Third, Don’t forget where you put your scissors, and then say you s’pose the children have taken them. Oh! I could tell you ever so many “don’ts,” but I think I’ll only say one more, and that is—Don’t think I mean to be saucy, because all these don’ts are in my piece, and I had to say them.

E. C. Rook.

Little Willie stood under an apple tree old,The fruit was all shining with crimson and gold,Hanging temptingly low—how he longed for a bite,Though he knew if he took one it wouldn’t be right.Said he, “I don’t see why my father should say,‘Don’t touch the old apple tree, Willie, to-day;’I shouldn’t have thought, now they’re hanging so low,When I asked for just one, he would answer me, ‘No.’“He would never find out if I took but just one,And they do look so good, shining out in the sun,There are hundreds and hundreds, and he wouldn’t missSo paltry a little red apple as this.”He stretched forth his hand, but a low mournful strainCame wandering dreamily over his brain;In his bosom a beautiful harp had long laid,Which the angel of conscience quite frequently played:—And he sang, “Little Willie, beware, O beware!Your father is gone, but your Maker is there.How sad you would feel, if you heard the Lord say,‘This dear little boy stole an apple to-day.’”Then Willie turned round, and, as still as a mouse,Crept slowly and carefully into the house.In his own little chamber he knelt down to prayThat the Lord would forgive him, and please not to say,“Little Willie almost stole an apple to-day.”

Little Willie stood under an apple tree old,The fruit was all shining with crimson and gold,Hanging temptingly low—how he longed for a bite,Though he knew if he took one it wouldn’t be right.

Little Willie stood under an apple tree old,

The fruit was all shining with crimson and gold,

Hanging temptingly low—how he longed for a bite,

Though he knew if he took one it wouldn’t be right.

Said he, “I don’t see why my father should say,‘Don’t touch the old apple tree, Willie, to-day;’I shouldn’t have thought, now they’re hanging so low,When I asked for just one, he would answer me, ‘No.’

Said he, “I don’t see why my father should say,

‘Don’t touch the old apple tree, Willie, to-day;’

I shouldn’t have thought, now they’re hanging so low,

When I asked for just one, he would answer me, ‘No.’

“He would never find out if I took but just one,And they do look so good, shining out in the sun,There are hundreds and hundreds, and he wouldn’t missSo paltry a little red apple as this.”

“He would never find out if I took but just one,

And they do look so good, shining out in the sun,

There are hundreds and hundreds, and he wouldn’t miss

So paltry a little red apple as this.”

He stretched forth his hand, but a low mournful strainCame wandering dreamily over his brain;In his bosom a beautiful harp had long laid,Which the angel of conscience quite frequently played:—

He stretched forth his hand, but a low mournful strain

Came wandering dreamily over his brain;

In his bosom a beautiful harp had long laid,

Which the angel of conscience quite frequently played:—

And he sang, “Little Willie, beware, O beware!Your father is gone, but your Maker is there.How sad you would feel, if you heard the Lord say,‘This dear little boy stole an apple to-day.’”

And he sang, “Little Willie, beware, O beware!

Your father is gone, but your Maker is there.

How sad you would feel, if you heard the Lord say,

‘This dear little boy stole an apple to-day.’”

Then Willie turned round, and, as still as a mouse,Crept slowly and carefully into the house.In his own little chamber he knelt down to prayThat the Lord would forgive him, and please not to say,“Little Willie almost stole an apple to-day.”

Then Willie turned round, and, as still as a mouse,

Crept slowly and carefully into the house.

In his own little chamber he knelt down to pray

That the Lord would forgive him, and please not to say,

“Little Willie almost stole an apple to-day.”

The curtains drawn across the lightMade darkness in the room,And in our watching eyes and heartsFear wrought an answering gloom.Grief-wrung, we heard from lips we lovedThe moanings of distress,And vainly strove to stifle painWith helpless tenderness.We scarcely marked the three-years boyWho stood beside the bed,From whose wet cheeks and quivering lipsThe frightened dimples fled.Till all at once, with eager hope,A thrill in every word,Our darling cried, “I guess I’ll speakAbout it to the Lord!”He sank upon his bended knee,And clasped his hands in prayer,While, like a glory, from his browStreamed back his golden hair.“O Lord!” he said, “dear grandma’s sick;We don’t know what to do!If I could only make her well,I’m sure I would. Won’t you?”He rose; o’er all his childish faceA subtle radiance shone,As one who on the mount of faithHad talked with God alone.We gazed each in the other’s eyes,We almost held our breathBefore the fearless confidenceThat shamed our tardy faith.But, when our yearning glances soughtThe sufferer’s face again,A look of growing ease and restReplaced the lines of pain.Quick as his trusting prayer to raise,Its answer to discern,The child climbed up to reach her lips,Which kissed him in return.“Grandma”—the ringing accents struckA new, triumphant chord—“Iknewyou would be better soon,Because I asked the Lord!”Mary A. P. Humphrey.

The curtains drawn across the lightMade darkness in the room,And in our watching eyes and heartsFear wrought an answering gloom.

The curtains drawn across the light

Made darkness in the room,

And in our watching eyes and hearts

Fear wrought an answering gloom.

Grief-wrung, we heard from lips we lovedThe moanings of distress,And vainly strove to stifle painWith helpless tenderness.

Grief-wrung, we heard from lips we loved

The moanings of distress,

And vainly strove to stifle pain

With helpless tenderness.

We scarcely marked the three-years boyWho stood beside the bed,From whose wet cheeks and quivering lipsThe frightened dimples fled.

We scarcely marked the three-years boy

Who stood beside the bed,

From whose wet cheeks and quivering lips

The frightened dimples fled.

Till all at once, with eager hope,A thrill in every word,Our darling cried, “I guess I’ll speakAbout it to the Lord!”

Till all at once, with eager hope,

A thrill in every word,

Our darling cried, “I guess I’ll speak

About it to the Lord!”

He sank upon his bended knee,And clasped his hands in prayer,While, like a glory, from his browStreamed back his golden hair.

He sank upon his bended knee,

And clasped his hands in prayer,

While, like a glory, from his brow

Streamed back his golden hair.

“O Lord!” he said, “dear grandma’s sick;We don’t know what to do!If I could only make her well,I’m sure I would. Won’t you?”

“O Lord!” he said, “dear grandma’s sick;

We don’t know what to do!

If I could only make her well,

I’m sure I would. Won’t you?”

He rose; o’er all his childish faceA subtle radiance shone,As one who on the mount of faithHad talked with God alone.

He rose; o’er all his childish face

A subtle radiance shone,

As one who on the mount of faith

Had talked with God alone.

We gazed each in the other’s eyes,We almost held our breathBefore the fearless confidenceThat shamed our tardy faith.

We gazed each in the other’s eyes,

We almost held our breath

Before the fearless confidence

That shamed our tardy faith.

But, when our yearning glances soughtThe sufferer’s face again,A look of growing ease and restReplaced the lines of pain.

But, when our yearning glances sought

The sufferer’s face again,

A look of growing ease and rest

Replaced the lines of pain.

Quick as his trusting prayer to raise,Its answer to discern,The child climbed up to reach her lips,Which kissed him in return.

Quick as his trusting prayer to raise,

Its answer to discern,

The child climbed up to reach her lips,

Which kissed him in return.

“Grandma”—the ringing accents struckA new, triumphant chord—“Iknewyou would be better soon,Because I asked the Lord!”

“Grandma”—the ringing accents struck

A new, triumphant chord—

“Iknewyou would be better soon,

Because I asked the Lord!”

Mary A. P. Humphrey.

“Mayn’t I be a boy?” said our Mary,The tears in her great eyes blue;“I’m only a wee little lassie—There’s nothing a woman can do.“’Tis so; I heard Cousin John say so—He’s home from a great college, too—He said so just now in the parlor;‘There’s nothing awomancan do.’”“My wee little lassie, my darling,”Said I, putting back her soft hair,“I want you, my dear little maiden,To smooth away all mother’s care.“Who is it, when pa comes home weary,That runs for his slippers and gown?What eyes does he watch for at morning,Looking out from their lashes of brown?“And can you do nothing, my darling,What was it that pa said last night?‘My own little sunbeam is coming,I know, for the room is so bright.’“And there is a secret, my Mary—Perhaps you will learn it some day—The hand that is willing and lovingWill do the most work on the way.“And the work that is sweetest and dearest—The great work that so many ne’er do—The work of making folks happyCan be done by a lassie like you.”

“Mayn’t I be a boy?” said our Mary,The tears in her great eyes blue;“I’m only a wee little lassie—There’s nothing a woman can do.

“Mayn’t I be a boy?” said our Mary,

The tears in her great eyes blue;

“I’m only a wee little lassie—

There’s nothing a woman can do.

“’Tis so; I heard Cousin John say so—He’s home from a great college, too—He said so just now in the parlor;‘There’s nothing awomancan do.’”

“’Tis so; I heard Cousin John say so—

He’s home from a great college, too—

He said so just now in the parlor;

‘There’s nothing awomancan do.’”

“My wee little lassie, my darling,”Said I, putting back her soft hair,“I want you, my dear little maiden,To smooth away all mother’s care.

“My wee little lassie, my darling,”

Said I, putting back her soft hair,

“I want you, my dear little maiden,

To smooth away all mother’s care.

“Who is it, when pa comes home weary,That runs for his slippers and gown?What eyes does he watch for at morning,Looking out from their lashes of brown?

“Who is it, when pa comes home weary,

That runs for his slippers and gown?

What eyes does he watch for at morning,

Looking out from their lashes of brown?

“And can you do nothing, my darling,What was it that pa said last night?‘My own little sunbeam is coming,I know, for the room is so bright.’

“And can you do nothing, my darling,

What was it that pa said last night?

‘My own little sunbeam is coming,

I know, for the room is so bright.’

“And there is a secret, my Mary—Perhaps you will learn it some day—The hand that is willing and lovingWill do the most work on the way.

“And there is a secret, my Mary—

Perhaps you will learn it some day—

The hand that is willing and loving

Will do the most work on the way.

“And the work that is sweetest and dearest—The great work that so many ne’er do—The work of making folks happyCan be done by a lassie like you.”

“And the work that is sweetest and dearest—

The great work that so many ne’er do—

The work of making folks happy

Can be done by a lassie like you.”

See the rivers flowingDownward to the sea,Pouring all their treasuresBountiful and free!Yet, to help their giving,Hidden springs arise;Or, if need be, showersFeed them from the skies.Watch the princely flowersTheir rich fragrance spread;Load the air with perfumesFrom their beauty shed;Yet their lavish spendingLeaves them not in dearth,With fresh life replenishedBy their mother earth.Give thy heart’s best treasures;From fair Nature learn;Give thy love, and ask not,Wait not, a return.And the more thou spendestFrom thy little store,With a double bountyGod will give thee more.Adelaide A. Proctor.

See the rivers flowingDownward to the sea,Pouring all their treasuresBountiful and free!Yet, to help their giving,Hidden springs arise;Or, if need be, showersFeed them from the skies.

See the rivers flowing

Downward to the sea,

Pouring all their treasures

Bountiful and free!

Yet, to help their giving,

Hidden springs arise;

Or, if need be, showers

Feed them from the skies.

Watch the princely flowersTheir rich fragrance spread;Load the air with perfumesFrom their beauty shed;Yet their lavish spendingLeaves them not in dearth,With fresh life replenishedBy their mother earth.

Watch the princely flowers

Their rich fragrance spread;

Load the air with perfumes

From their beauty shed;

Yet their lavish spending

Leaves them not in dearth,

With fresh life replenished

By their mother earth.

Give thy heart’s best treasures;From fair Nature learn;Give thy love, and ask not,Wait not, a return.And the more thou spendestFrom thy little store,With a double bountyGod will give thee more.

Give thy heart’s best treasures;

From fair Nature learn;

Give thy love, and ask not,

Wait not, a return.

And the more thou spendest

From thy little store,

With a double bounty

God will give thee more.

Adelaide A. Proctor.

For six children and an older scholar, who takes the part of teacher, and recites the “Response.” Stand in a row and step forward as you recite your lines.

HUMMING-BIRD.I wish I were a humming-bird,A tiny little thing,With feathers light and airy,And a brilliant rainbow wing;Fleet as a sound, I’d fly, I’d fly,Away from fear and harm,Over the flowers and through the air,Inhaling heavenly balm.LARK.I’d rather be a lark to rise,When the sleep of night is done;And higher, higher through the skiesSoar to the morning sun;And clearer, sweeter, as I rise,With rapture I would sing,While diadems from heaven’s own lightWould sparkle on my wings.NIGHTINGALE.I’d like to be a nightingale;She sings the sweetest song;The daylight gone, her voice is heardIn tune the whole night long.The stars look down from heaven’s dome,The pale moon rolls along;And maybe angels live up there,And listen to her song.EAGLE.Of all the birds that sing so sweet,Or roam the air so free,With pinions firm, and proud, and strong,The eagle I would be;On some high mount whose rugged peaksBeyond the clouds do rest,There, in the blaze of day, I’d findMy shelter and my rest.DOVE.The humming-bird’s a pretty thing.The lark flies very high,The eagle’s very proud and strong,The nightingale sings lullaby;But, as I want a natureThat every one can love,And would be gentle, mild, and sweet,I think I’ll be a dove.CHICKADEE.I’ll tell you what I want to be—A little, merry, chickadee;In the storm and in the snowWhen the cold winds fiercely blow,Not to mind the wintry blast,Nor how long the storm may last,Active, merry, blithe and free,This’s the bird I’d like to be.RESPONSE.I do not want to be a bird,And really had not youMuch rather be like all the birds,And yet be children too?The humming-bird, from bloom to bloomInhales the heavenly balm;So we from all may gather good,And still reject the harm.And, like the lark, our minds arise,By inspirations given,To bathe our souls, as she her wings,In the pure light of heaven.The nightingale sings all the night,In sweet, harmonious lays;So, in the night of sorrow, weShould sing our Maker’s praise.The eagle, firm, and proud, and strong,On his own strength relying,Soars through the storm, the lightning’s glareAnd thunders bold defying.Till far above the clouds and storm,High on some mountain crest,He finds the sun’s clear light at last,And there he goes to rest.Be ours a spirit firm and true,Bold in the cause of right,Ever steadily onward moving,And upward to the light;But still as gentle as the dove,As loving and as true;Every word and act be kindness,All life’s journey through;Always thankful, happy, free;Though life’s tempests fiercely blow;Cheerful as a chickadeeFlying through the wintry snow.Myra A. Shattuck.

HUMMING-BIRD.

I wish I were a humming-bird,A tiny little thing,With feathers light and airy,And a brilliant rainbow wing;Fleet as a sound, I’d fly, I’d fly,Away from fear and harm,Over the flowers and through the air,Inhaling heavenly balm.

I wish I were a humming-bird,

A tiny little thing,

With feathers light and airy,

And a brilliant rainbow wing;

Fleet as a sound, I’d fly, I’d fly,

Away from fear and harm,

Over the flowers and through the air,

Inhaling heavenly balm.

LARK.

I’d rather be a lark to rise,When the sleep of night is done;And higher, higher through the skiesSoar to the morning sun;And clearer, sweeter, as I rise,With rapture I would sing,While diadems from heaven’s own lightWould sparkle on my wings.

I’d rather be a lark to rise,

When the sleep of night is done;

And higher, higher through the skies

Soar to the morning sun;

And clearer, sweeter, as I rise,

With rapture I would sing,

While diadems from heaven’s own light

Would sparkle on my wings.

NIGHTINGALE.

I’d like to be a nightingale;She sings the sweetest song;The daylight gone, her voice is heardIn tune the whole night long.The stars look down from heaven’s dome,The pale moon rolls along;And maybe angels live up there,And listen to her song.

I’d like to be a nightingale;

She sings the sweetest song;

The daylight gone, her voice is heard

In tune the whole night long.

The stars look down from heaven’s dome,

The pale moon rolls along;

And maybe angels live up there,

And listen to her song.

EAGLE.

Of all the birds that sing so sweet,Or roam the air so free,With pinions firm, and proud, and strong,The eagle I would be;On some high mount whose rugged peaksBeyond the clouds do rest,There, in the blaze of day, I’d findMy shelter and my rest.

Of all the birds that sing so sweet,

Or roam the air so free,

With pinions firm, and proud, and strong,

The eagle I would be;

On some high mount whose rugged peaks

Beyond the clouds do rest,

There, in the blaze of day, I’d find

My shelter and my rest.

DOVE.

The humming-bird’s a pretty thing.The lark flies very high,The eagle’s very proud and strong,The nightingale sings lullaby;But, as I want a natureThat every one can love,And would be gentle, mild, and sweet,I think I’ll be a dove.

The humming-bird’s a pretty thing.

The lark flies very high,

The eagle’s very proud and strong,

The nightingale sings lullaby;

But, as I want a nature

That every one can love,

And would be gentle, mild, and sweet,

I think I’ll be a dove.

CHICKADEE.

I’ll tell you what I want to be—A little, merry, chickadee;In the storm and in the snowWhen the cold winds fiercely blow,Not to mind the wintry blast,Nor how long the storm may last,Active, merry, blithe and free,This’s the bird I’d like to be.

I’ll tell you what I want to be—

A little, merry, chickadee;

In the storm and in the snow

When the cold winds fiercely blow,

Not to mind the wintry blast,

Nor how long the storm may last,

Active, merry, blithe and free,

This’s the bird I’d like to be.

RESPONSE.

I do not want to be a bird,And really had not youMuch rather be like all the birds,And yet be children too?The humming-bird, from bloom to bloomInhales the heavenly balm;So we from all may gather good,And still reject the harm.And, like the lark, our minds arise,By inspirations given,To bathe our souls, as she her wings,In the pure light of heaven.

I do not want to be a bird,

And really had not you

Much rather be like all the birds,

And yet be children too?

The humming-bird, from bloom to bloom

Inhales the heavenly balm;

So we from all may gather good,

And still reject the harm.

And, like the lark, our minds arise,

By inspirations given,

To bathe our souls, as she her wings,

In the pure light of heaven.

The nightingale sings all the night,In sweet, harmonious lays;So, in the night of sorrow, weShould sing our Maker’s praise.The eagle, firm, and proud, and strong,On his own strength relying,Soars through the storm, the lightning’s glareAnd thunders bold defying.Till far above the clouds and storm,High on some mountain crest,He finds the sun’s clear light at last,And there he goes to rest.

The nightingale sings all the night,

In sweet, harmonious lays;

So, in the night of sorrow, we

Should sing our Maker’s praise.

The eagle, firm, and proud, and strong,

On his own strength relying,

Soars through the storm, the lightning’s glare

And thunders bold defying.

Till far above the clouds and storm,

High on some mountain crest,

He finds the sun’s clear light at last,

And there he goes to rest.

Be ours a spirit firm and true,Bold in the cause of right,Ever steadily onward moving,And upward to the light;But still as gentle as the dove,As loving and as true;Every word and act be kindness,All life’s journey through;Always thankful, happy, free;Though life’s tempests fiercely blow;Cheerful as a chickadeeFlying through the wintry snow.

Be ours a spirit firm and true,

Bold in the cause of right,

Ever steadily onward moving,

And upward to the light;

But still as gentle as the dove,

As loving and as true;

Every word and act be kindness,

All life’s journey through;

Always thankful, happy, free;

Though life’s tempests fiercely blow;

Cheerful as a chickadee

Flying through the wintry snow.

Myra A. Shattuck.

As children once to Christ were broughtThat he might bless them there,So now we little children oughtTo seek the Lord by prayer.And as so many years agoPoor babes his pity drew,I’m sure he will not let me goWithout a blessing too.Then while, this favor to implore,My little hands are spread,Do thou thy sacred blessing pour,Dear Jesus, on my head.

As children once to Christ were broughtThat he might bless them there,So now we little children oughtTo seek the Lord by prayer.

As children once to Christ were brought

That he might bless them there,

So now we little children ought

To seek the Lord by prayer.

And as so many years agoPoor babes his pity drew,I’m sure he will not let me goWithout a blessing too.

And as so many years ago

Poor babes his pity drew,

I’m sure he will not let me go

Without a blessing too.

Then while, this favor to implore,My little hands are spread,Do thou thy sacred blessing pour,Dear Jesus, on my head.

Then while, this favor to implore,

My little hands are spread,

Do thou thy sacred blessing pour,

Dear Jesus, on my head.

This piece should be spoken by a spirited boy, and as he goes upon the stage, some one should cry out, “There’s a teetotaler!”

Yes, sir, hereisa teetotaler, from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes. I’ve got on teetotal boots, too, that never will walk in the way of a drunkard. The other day a man asked me about our White Ribbon Army. He wanted to know what use there is in making so many promises. I told him the use was inkeepingthe promises more than inmakingthem.The boys which belong to our Army have something to do besides loafing at the corners of the streets, and smoking the stumps of cigars they pick out of the gutters. It makes me sick to think of it!Some boys are dreadfully afraid of losing their liberty, so they won’t sign our pledge. I saw four or five of them the other day. They had been off, somewhere, having what they call a jolly time; and they were so drunk they couldn’t walk straight. They lifted their feet higher than a sober boy would to go upstairs, and I watched them till one fell down and bumped his nose.Thinks I to myself, there’s liberty for you, but it’s just such liberty as I don’t want. I would rather walk straight than crooked, I would rather stand up than fall down, and I would rather go to a party with my sisters, and some other pretty girls, than hide away with a lot of rough fellows, to guzzle beer and whisky.There are plenty of other reasons why I am a teetotaler. When I grow up, I would rather be amanthan a walking wine-cask or rum-barrel; I would rather live in agoodhouse than apoorone, and I would rather be loved and respected than despised and hated.Now, if these are not reasons enough for being a teetotaler, I will give you some more the next time we meet.

The boys which belong to our Army have something to do besides loafing at the corners of the streets, and smoking the stumps of cigars they pick out of the gutters. It makes me sick to think of it!

Some boys are dreadfully afraid of losing their liberty, so they won’t sign our pledge. I saw four or five of them the other day. They had been off, somewhere, having what they call a jolly time; and they were so drunk they couldn’t walk straight. They lifted their feet higher than a sober boy would to go upstairs, and I watched them till one fell down and bumped his nose.

Thinks I to myself, there’s liberty for you, but it’s just such liberty as I don’t want. I would rather walk straight than crooked, I would rather stand up than fall down, and I would rather go to a party with my sisters, and some other pretty girls, than hide away with a lot of rough fellows, to guzzle beer and whisky.

There are plenty of other reasons why I am a teetotaler. When I grow up, I would rather be amanthan a walking wine-cask or rum-barrel; I would rather live in agoodhouse than apoorone, and I would rather be loved and respected than despised and hated.

Now, if these are not reasons enough for being a teetotaler, I will give you some more the next time we meet.

For a small boy.

The boy that spoke first to-night said you were all welcome. I shan’t take it back. Youarewelcome. You’re welcome to see and hear; but you’re just twice as welcome togive. We love to look at you, and we’rewillingyou should look at us. We’re glad to have you hearus; but we want to hearyou. You haven’t any speeches ready? All right! We don’t want to hear those. We can make those ourselves—as you’ve seen.What we do want to hear is the rustling of Greenbacks and the clinking of Silver, as the ushers pass the boxes round. That’s a kind of music that we appreciate, for it gets us our library-books, our papers, our banners, and everything else that a Sunday-School needs; and then it’s a kind of music that we can’t make ourselves, and everybody prizes what he can’t do himself. We do our best now. This school has given ⸺ dollars for benevolent objects, during the past year. Isn’t such a school worth helping? We mean to do better by-and-by, whenweget hold of the money-bags. Just now,youmust do the giving.

What we do want to hear is the rustling of Greenbacks and the clinking of Silver, as the ushers pass the boxes round. That’s a kind of music that we appreciate, for it gets us our library-books, our papers, our banners, and everything else that a Sunday-School needs; and then it’s a kind of music that we can’t make ourselves, and everybody prizes what he can’t do himself. We do our best now. This school has given ⸺ dollars for benevolent objects, during the past year. Isn’t such a school worth helping? We mean to do better by-and-by, whenweget hold of the money-bags. Just now,youmust do the giving.

To be spoken by a small girl.

Dear Pastor:—The old folks have asked you to come and be their pastor, and we children want to know if you won’t come and be ours too. I am sure little folks need a pastor just as much as big ones do. Ithink they do more, because big folks ought to be able to take care of themselves.We think the Sunday-school belongs especially to us, as we are allowed to say more there than we are in church, so we would like you to come into the Sunday-school and work with us there, and we will gladly pay you with our love and sunny smiles. (We can’t give you our pennies because they have to go across the ocean to the poor heathen.) If you could only come around through our classes every week and help us just a little by a word of good cheer, I am sure we would feel that you belonged to us and we to you.I know pastors have an awful lot to do, and they say it is real hard work to preach, but if you could say just a little less to the old folks, and a little more to the young folks, we will help you build up the church and make it a big success. So, I hope, dear pastor, you will let us call you our own, and when you come among us you may be sure we will love you and welcome you as the children’s friend.

We think the Sunday-school belongs especially to us, as we are allowed to say more there than we are in church, so we would like you to come into the Sunday-school and work with us there, and we will gladly pay you with our love and sunny smiles. (We can’t give you our pennies because they have to go across the ocean to the poor heathen.) If you could only come around through our classes every week and help us just a little by a word of good cheer, I am sure we would feel that you belonged to us and we to you.

I know pastors have an awful lot to do, and they say it is real hard work to preach, but if you could say just a little less to the old folks, and a little more to the young folks, we will help you build up the church and make it a big success. So, I hope, dear pastor, you will let us call you our own, and when you come among us you may be sure we will love you and welcome you as the children’s friend.

To be spoken by a small boy.

Dear Mr. Blank:—I am sent out here to-day to tell you how glad we are that you are to be our new superintendent. I welcome you in the name of the school, and do it most heartily. Boys know a good thing when they see it—if they didn’t Farmer Jones wouldn’t have to put up sticky fly-paper on his peach trees—just to catch flies, of course. So, when we were told that you had been chosen for our new superintendent, we said “that’s all right.”There must be an engineer to every train if it is to be run properly, at the same time a great deal depends on the train and how it is made up. Now, I believe there is good stuff in our Sunday-school. We would make a good train if guided by a good engineer. We can’t run ourselves and keep on the track, that’s sure. We are quite certain, to begin with, that we are on the right track, and we know that Mr. Blank can keep us there. To get to the end of our journey safely, though, will depend much on how well our train hangs together. This, boys and girls, is our part, and we must do our best.We know that love will make the wheels go round and charity will bind us together, tighter than any cord. We hope our engineer will be proud of his train.

There must be an engineer to every train if it is to be run properly, at the same time a great deal depends on the train and how it is made up. Now, I believe there is good stuff in our Sunday-school. We would make a good train if guided by a good engineer. We can’t run ourselves and keep on the track, that’s sure. We are quite certain, to begin with, that we are on the right track, and we know that Mr. Blank can keep us there. To get to the end of our journey safely, though, will depend much on how well our train hangs together. This, boys and girls, is our part, and we must do our best.

We know that love will make the wheels go round and charity will bind us together, tighter than any cord. We hope our engineer will be proud of his train.

I have always been told that children should be seen and not heard, but this is children’s night and we are going to be seen and heard too.We are very glad to welcome the old folks. There are so many here their presence would lead us to think they believe boys and girls can do something after all. Their eyes are on us, and I hope, children, that you have brought your best behavior with you, because this is a good time and place to use it. Perhaps I may be allowed to suggest that you keep your eye on the old folks, just to see that they conduct themselves properly.Boys and girls, we have a great deal to say that is worth hearing, and I hope you will speak out loud and prompt so that our audience will not miss any of the good things. We want to make this the best exhibition we have ever given, so that when our elders go home they will have a better impression of us than they ever had before.

I have always been told that children should be seen and not heard, but this is children’s night and we are going to be seen and heard too.

We are very glad to welcome the old folks. There are so many here their presence would lead us to think they believe boys and girls can do something after all. Their eyes are on us, and I hope, children, that you have brought your best behavior with you, because this is a good time and place to use it. Perhaps I may be allowed to suggest that you keep your eye on the old folks, just to see that they conduct themselves properly.

Boys and girls, we have a great deal to say that is worth hearing, and I hope you will speak out loud and prompt so that our audience will not miss any of the good things. We want to make this the best exhibition we have ever given, so that when our elders go home they will have a better impression of us than they ever had before.

When I found that our superintendent had put melaston the programme, I felt, as boys often do, that it would be much nicer to befirst, but he said it was a good plan to keep the best wine till the last, so I feel all right about it. I know, too, that you will not question the superintendent’s good taste. I mean aboutme, not thewine. He wants me to say we are all very much obliged to you for coming, and we hope you have had a much bigger treat than you expected.These exhibitions mean work for the boys and girls, as well as for the teachers, butworkdoes everybody good, especially boys who love base-ball better than Sunday-school. I hope our efforts have been a credit to ourselves and to the Sunday-school, of which we are all so proud.

These exhibitions mean work for the boys and girls, as well as for the teachers, butworkdoes everybody good, especially boys who love base-ball better than Sunday-school. I hope our efforts have been a credit to ourselves and to the Sunday-school, of which we are all so proud.

For a young lady.

Dear Pastor:—It is our delight at this season of gifts and good will, to present to you a slight token of the esteem in which you are held by your Sunday School. To say we all love you is to repeat what you must already know.“Out of the fullness of the heart the mouth speaketh,” but words do not always answer our purpose. We like to put them into some tangible form, and so to-night we present you with this ⸺ which comes as an expression of our sincere love and good wishes.We ask you to accept this, not for its intrinsic value, but as a gift from loyal scholars, who recognize and appreciate your constant and untiring efforts to minister to their needs in every way and at all times.Do not thank us, dear Pastor. We are discharging but a mite of the indebtedness we owe you, and you will only add to that debt if you persist in returning thanks to us. You know how Church people abhor debts, and we are trying to put into practice some of your preaching. We hope the token will be a constant reminder, if that were necessary, of our unceasing interest in you and your work.

“Out of the fullness of the heart the mouth speaketh,” but words do not always answer our purpose. We like to put them into some tangible form, and so to-night we present you with this ⸺ which comes as an expression of our sincere love and good wishes.

We ask you to accept this, not for its intrinsic value, but as a gift from loyal scholars, who recognize and appreciate your constant and untiring efforts to minister to their needs in every way and at all times.

Do not thank us, dear Pastor. We are discharging but a mite of the indebtedness we owe you, and you will only add to that debt if you persist in returning thanks to us. You know how Church people abhor debts, and we are trying to put into practice some of your preaching. We hope the token will be a constant reminder, if that were necessary, of our unceasing interest in you and your work.

Dear Teacher:—We take this occasion to acknowledge publicly our deep and sincere appreciation of the faithful service you have rendered us. It is our desire to tender you some tangible expression of the sincere feeling we have for you and to impress upon you the love and good will felt by every pupil.I, therefore, present you this ⸺ asking you to associate it forever with the names and faces of the donors. Through your kind and prayerful aid many of us have been led into the way of truth, and will, therefore, gratefully remember you as long as we live.

I, therefore, present you this ⸺ asking you to associate it forever with the names and faces of the donors. Through your kind and prayerful aid many of us have been led into the way of truth, and will, therefore, gratefully remember you as long as we live.

For a young man.

Mr. Superintendent:—We are going to make you a present to-night, and I for one think you deserve it.Our School has the reputation of being aliveone, and it is a good deal because there is aliveman at the head of it. In the past year that you have been with us, your patience must have been sorely tried, for while most of the children are naturally good, some are naturally unruly. The young men and young women from whom we expect the best conduct are often, strange to say, more attentive to each other than to their lessons. But having been first a boy yourself, and perhaps later a beau, you have not had the heart to be too severe on those who are still young pupils in the school of experience.By your untiring efforts you have brought the Sunday School up to a standard of unusual excellence. For its free and vigorous life, we are largely indebted to you. As a token of that fact please accept this gift. We wish its intrinsic value were twice as great. But if it conveys, even in a slight degree, theesteem in which you are held by all our scholars, young and old, it will serve the purpose for which it was procured.

Mr. Superintendent:—We are going to make you a present to-night, and I for one think you deserve it.

Our School has the reputation of being aliveone, and it is a good deal because there is aliveman at the head of it. In the past year that you have been with us, your patience must have been sorely tried, for while most of the children are naturally good, some are naturally unruly. The young men and young women from whom we expect the best conduct are often, strange to say, more attentive to each other than to their lessons. But having been first a boy yourself, and perhaps later a beau, you have not had the heart to be too severe on those who are still young pupils in the school of experience.

By your untiring efforts you have brought the Sunday School up to a standard of unusual excellence. For its free and vigorous life, we are largely indebted to you. As a token of that fact please accept this gift. We wish its intrinsic value were twice as great. But if it conveys, even in a slight degree, theesteem in which you are held by all our scholars, young and old, it will serve the purpose for which it was procured.

To be spoken by a young lady.

Dear Mr. Blank:—I feel unable to fully express to you our joy at seeing you once more in your place in the Sunday School. It has been hard for us to be deprived of your presence, for you had made yourself invaluable to us, but added to the personal loss we felt at your absence was the greater sorrow that you had been called upon to pass through so much physical suffering.But, we know that God’s hand is always leading us, and the same wise purpose that causes the shadows to fall, also makes the sun to shine, and “the darker the shadow, the brighter the sunshine.” When, for a time, it was feared that you might not be restored to us, we felt we could not have it so, but our prayers were heard, and our thanks are deep and sincere that you are again in our midst. We pray that you may long be permitted to glorify Him who is the great physician, in the work to which you are returned.

But, we know that God’s hand is always leading us, and the same wise purpose that causes the shadows to fall, also makes the sun to shine, and “the darker the shadow, the brighter the sunshine.” When, for a time, it was feared that you might not be restored to us, we felt we could not have it so, but our prayers were heard, and our thanks are deep and sincere that you are again in our midst. We pray that you may long be permitted to glorify Him who is the great physician, in the work to which you are returned.

To be spoken by a young man.

Dear Pastor:—I want to speak in behalf of the younger members of your flock and add our hearty welcome to that already voiced by our elders. We congratulate you on your safe return, and rejoice with you that change and rest have reinvigorated your physical health. As you come, bringing the fresh fruits of added experience and observation, you will find us all eager to benefit by what has enriched your store.Welcome home, then, to all that has suffered by your absence. The Church with its manifold offices has often felt the need of your strength and wisdom. Welcome to the Sunday-school where your words of help and counsel have guided us many times, and where your presence has been most uplifting.Welcome to the homes and hearts of the young and old alike. There is not a fireside in our midst that has not been cheered by your frequent and timely visits. In the seasons of joy and sorrow which must come to all homes alike, there has been no one to whom we could turn and be so sure of loving sympathy as yourself.Welcome to the privileges and responsibilities of your calling and to the honor of your old title—The Pastor who loves the children. We want to give fresh assurance of our hearty co-operation in that work which you are about to resume. We have learned in your absence how much and how great is that work.Let it be our privilege to share it with you and so prove by our deeds, the love we have for your labors.May Hatheway.

Welcome home, then, to all that has suffered by your absence. The Church with its manifold offices has often felt the need of your strength and wisdom. Welcome to the Sunday-school where your words of help and counsel have guided us many times, and where your presence has been most uplifting.

Welcome to the homes and hearts of the young and old alike. There is not a fireside in our midst that has not been cheered by your frequent and timely visits. In the seasons of joy and sorrow which must come to all homes alike, there has been no one to whom we could turn and be so sure of loving sympathy as yourself.

Welcome to the privileges and responsibilities of your calling and to the honor of your old title—The Pastor who loves the children. We want to give fresh assurance of our hearty co-operation in that work which you are about to resume. We have learned in your absence how much and how great is that work.

Let it be our privilege to share it with you and so prove by our deeds, the love we have for your labors.

May Hatheway.

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