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A littlemote lived in a sunbeam,And danced in its light all day;But she jumped with surprise one morning,At hearing the housemaid say:—"Oh, the dust! How it keeps one a-working!It settles all over the room—And the air is so full, it is follyTo labor with duster and broom!""Poor thing!" sighed the mote, "well, I'm sorry.I think I'll go hide in her hair—I'm such a wee speck of a dustletShe never will know I am there."
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WhenI was little,Thought I was big;Now I'm a giant,Don't care a fig.When I was nobody,Felt quite a chap;Now that I'm somebody,Don't care a snap.
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guardian angel watching over toddler on bridge
Whatmakes baby brave and bright?Angels guard him day and night.
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Littleboys with pockets,Little boys with none,Little bright-eyed lassiesGather, every one!Crowd around me closely.Would you master books?You must first discoverHow each letter looks.Ahas a barWhere a fairy might ride;Bis a postWith two loops at the side.Cmight be roundIf a piece you would lend;Dis a buck-sawStanding on end.Ehas a pegIn the middle, they say;Fis an EWith the bottom away.Gis like C,With a block on one end;Hhas a seatThat would hold you, depend.Iis so straightIt would do for a prop;Jis a crookWith a bar at the top.Kis a stickWith a crotch fastened to it.Lis a roost,If the chickens but knew it.Mhas four parts,As you quickly may see;N, the poor fellow!Is made out of three.Ois so roundIt would do for a hoop;Pis a stickWith a top like a loop.Qto be curlyIs constantly trying;Ris like B,With the bottom loop flying.Sis a snake,All crooked and dread;Tis a poleWith a bar for a head.Uit is plain,Would make a good swing;Vis as sharpAs a bumble-bee's sting.WoughtTo be called double-V;Xis a cross,As you plainly can see;Yis just formedLike a V on a stand;Zis the crookedestThing in the land!
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Earlyto bed and early to rise:Ifthatwould make me wealthy and wiseI'd rise at daybreak, cold or hot,And go back to bed at once. Why not?
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A realapple-pudding for Mammy and me!A-boiling as hard as I ever did see!O Mammy! I'm going to jump up and look,And tell the old pudding to hurry and cook.Is it looking in, Mammy, that hinders the boil?Well, I'd feel very bad for my pudding to spoil;So I'll cover it up, like a good little son,And play on the floor till you tell me it's done.There's the chil'ren up-stairs—they're dressed up so fine,But their pudding's no better than Mammy's and mine.Oh! isn't it nice when your Mammy's the cook,And whenever you want you can climb up and look!
child looking at something cooking on stove"OH! ISN'T IT NICE!"
"OH! ISN'T IT NICE!"
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Hurrahfor the bouncer, exactly fourteen;The blithest old schoolboy that ever was seen,Hurrah for the Harry who went by, this way,Last Valentine's eve,thirteenand a day!There was Harry, agedtwelve, I remember him wellA hawk from a hernshaw he always could tell;And Harry,eleven—ah! how he would fiddleAnd scrape with his bow from the end to the middle.Then the bold boy oftenthat my Harry appeared,A few years ago, when the war-mists were cleared;A chubby young fellow he flourished atnine,A right chubby fellow, this Harry of mine.Ateighthe was slender; atseven, quite fat;Atsixhe was saucy—depend upon that!Atfivehe put on his first trowsers and jacket;Atfourwho could match him for making a racket?Atthreethe young rascal was always in trouble;Attwohe was teething (his front teeth, and double);Atonehe was precious and something to carry,And the year before that there was never a Harry!
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"Howsweet," said the swan,"To glide and plash!And not, like a frog,To dive and dash.""How fine," said the frog,"To dive and dash!And not, like a swan,To glide and plash.""But better than eitherTo float with grace,"A pond lily whispered,"Yet keep your place."
swan
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Tomof Clapham used to sayHe loved his mother dearly;Yet he vexed her sorely every day—Does that strike you queerly?
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Whatdoes the drum say? "Rub-a-dub-dub!Rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub! Pound away, bub!Make as much racket as ever you can.Rub-a-dub! rub-a-dub! Go it, my man!"What does the trumpet say? "Toot-a-toot-too!Toot-a-toot, toot-a-toot! Hurrah for you!Blow in this end, sir, and hold me out, so.Toot-a-toot! toot-a-toot! Why don't you blow?"What does the whip say? "Snaperty-snap!Callthata crack, sir—flipperty flap!Up with the handle, and down with the lash.Snaperty! snaperty! Done in a flash."What does the gun say? "Put in my stick,I'm a real pop-gun. Fire me quick!See that you fire in nobody's eye.Steady! my manikin. Now let it fly!"What does the sword say? "Swishy-an-swish!Flash in the sunlight, and give me a wish.Wish I was real, sir—cut 'em in bits!Wouldn't I scare all the world into fits!"What do theyallsay, trumpet and gun,Whip, sword, and drum-stick? "Hurrah for fun!Babies no longer, but stout little men,Racket forever! and racket again!"
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Onestep—two step,Three step—four.Who says my babyCan't travel the floor?Five step—six step—Seven step—eight!Now shall my babyRest him in state!
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Tom's mother selling melons
Melons!melons!All day longJoe's mother sitsSelling melons."Ho! ripe and rich!"Is her song,All day longSelling melons.
Tom with board of melons on head
Melons! melons!All day long,Joe walks the streetSelling melons."Ho! ripe and sweet!"Is his song,All day longSelling melons.
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Tapat your brain and unlock it,Then count all the things in my pocket:A nail and a screw,A screw-driver, too;A cent and a dollar,A tumbled-up collar;A neck-tie and glove,A note from my love;Two peppermint-drops,A couple of tops;A buckle, a ball,The head of a doll;A top-snare, of course,A six-penny horse;Four pins, always handy,And three sticks of candy;Ten nuts and a pen,A squirt—and what then?Why, my knife, to be sure,And an old wooden skewer;That's all—oh! a string,A galvanized ring;A pistol (but no one could cock it),And that's all I had in my pocket.
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"Wherehave you been, my children;Where have you been, I pray?""Oh, but we've been a-riding,A-riding the live-long day.""And how did you ride, my darlings;And where did all of you go?""We all of us went on horseback,A-galloping in a row.
three children on rocking horse
"Jack had the whole of the saddle;I held on to the tail;And Leslie, under the fore-feet,Managed to ride the rail;"Jackey galloped and cantered,—Played he galloped, I mean;For Les. and I did the rocking,And Jack just rode between."Oh, didn't our animal caperAs he hitched himself along!We might have kept on forever,If they'd only made him strong."But when I pitched on the carpet,His tail so tight in my hand,And Les. from the rail fell kicking,Why, horsey came to a stand."If Les. had only kept quiet,We might have played we were dead;I don't see the sense in yellingBecause you have bumped your head."Jackey held on like a good one,And looked as fine as a fiddle,—But it's nothing to ride a-horsebackIf a fellow is on the middle."
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bee
"Busybee! busy bee!Where is your home?""In truth, pretty maiden,I live in a comb.""And you, little Rabbit,Where do you rush?""I rush to my home, dear,Under the brush!"
hare
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cat snuggling horse's head
Dobbinhas a little friend,Spotted white and sable;Every day she goes to him,In his lonely stable.Not a might of dread has she,Not a thought of danger;Lightly runs between his hoofs,Jumps upon his manger;Lays her soft, warm cheek to his,Purrs her meek "Good morning!"Gives the flies that hover near,Sucha look of warning!"Dobbin, dear," she sometimes says,"Feel my winter mittens;Nice and warm, you see, and madePurposely for kittens."Dobbin, dear, such times at home!Mother has caught a rat!Brought it home to show to us—What do you think of that?""Dobbin!" she whispers, purring still,"You often get so weary,Why don't you balk or run away,And get your freedom, dearie?"Then Dobbin gives his head a toss,And says, "For shame, Miss Kitty!If I could do so mean a thing,'Twould be a monstrous pity."No, no; my master's good and kind;I'll never vex him, never!"And pussy, pleased, still rubs his cheek,And likes him more than ever.
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I'lltell you how I speak a piece:First, I make my bow;Then I bring my words out clearAnd plain as I know how.Next, I throw my hands upso!Then I lift my eyes—That's to let my hearers knowSomething doth surprise.Next, I grin and show my teeth,Nearly every one;Shake my shoulders, hold my sides:That's the sign of fun.Next I start and knit my brow,Hold my head erect:Something's wrong, you see, and IDecidedly object.Then I wabble at my knees,Clutch at shadows near,Tremble well from top to toe:That's the sign of fear.Now I start, and with a leapSeize an airy dagger."Wretch!" I cry. That's tragedy,Every soul to stagger.Then I let my voice grow faint,Gasp and hold my breath;Tumble down and plunge about:That's a villain's death.Quickly then I come to life,Perfectly restored;With a bow my speech is done.Now you'll please applaud.
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Willylay by the dimpling brook,Where the sun had lain before;And, strange to say, when its place he took,The spot just brightened the more.The birds were singing in the blue,A song that was like a hymn;While the baby ducklings, two by two,Strayed into the water to swim."Heigho!" sighed Willy, "I cannot fly,Nor even so much as float;And as for singing like robins, why,I never could raise a note."But I can play on my pipe," said he;And soon the music came—So clear and sweet, so blithesome free,That it put the birds to shame.The baby ducklings softly splashed,The robins yet harder tried,The sprinkled grass in sunlight flashed,As it nodded by Willy's side.And, before he knew, he was floating freeOn a sparkling river of thought;While the birds in the air came down to seeWhat wonder the pipe had wrought.And still the music softly rose,Still Willy was floating free;And the little ducks with their funny toes,Were happy as happy could be.
bird iwth bit of fruit in its beak
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boy in kilt with sword
I hada little Scotchman,Who reached to my chin;He was swift as an arrow,And neat as a pin.He ran on my errands,And sang me a song;Oh, he was as happyAs summer is long!
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Trottery, trottery, out of breath,Nurse trots the baby 'most to death:Sick or well, or cold or hot,It's trottery, trottery, trottery-trot!
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Lazy Lou, Lazy Lou,What's the matter, child, with you?Can't you work? Can't you play?Can't you tuck your hair away?If I were you, my Lazy Lou,I'd change my ways. That's what I'd do.
girl sitting on rock under tree
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UUP in the morning early—Hi for my baby sweet!Here's a gown for his body,Here are shoes for his feet.And here is his snowy tuckerTied with ribbons fair,And here is his little mammyTo curl his bonny hair.Here is his little bath-tub,And here is his little sponge,Before the gown and the curlingMy baby shall have a plunge.
U
UP in the morning early—Hi for my baby sweet!Here's a gown for his body,Here are shoes for his feet.And here is his snowy tuckerTied with ribbons fair,And here is his little mammyTo curl his bonny hair.Here is his little bath-tub,And here is his little sponge,Before the gown and the curlingMy baby shall have a plunge.
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Pinsin the carpet, tacks in the floor,Needles in the drugget, wind through the door,Fire in the fender! Oh, it beats all!There isn't a place where our baby can crawl.
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cat
IfPussy were made of leather,And Doggie were made of lead,I'd tumble them both together,And hammer them on the head.But Pussy is warm and tender,And Doggie is good and true;So I'd rather far defend her,And Doggie, too, wouldn't you?
puppy
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man and jester
Neverin a fool's mouthThrust your careless finger;If you do, there's dangerIt may chance to linger.Never to the foolishTell your dearest thought;Or you'll find your confidence,Like your finger, "caught."Never with the sillyBanter, sport, or jest;Even for your frolicsWise friends are the best.
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"Ho!plowman Kelly! How does it feelTo get in a wagon by climbing the wheel?""Nay, nay, little master, don't try it, I beg,For that is the way that I broke my leg.""Kelly, Kelly! Come, show me the wayThey turn this machine when they cut the hay!""No, no, little master, just let it be—That hay-cutter cut off my thumb for me.""Ho, Kelly! The well-curb is rimmed with moss.Now look at me while I jump across!""Hold, hold, young master! 'T would be a sin!I tried it once, and I tumbled in.""Kelly, Kelly! Send me to jail,But I'll pluck a hair from yon pony's tail.""Oh, master, master! Come back! Don't try—That's the very way that I lost my eye.""Why, Kelly, man, how under the sunCan you be so frisky and full of fun?—With all your mishaps, you are never a spoon—You're as brave as a lion and wise as a coon.""Well, well, young master, maybe it's so,And maybe it isn't. But this I know:It just brings trouble and mischief and slaughter,To be fussin' around where one hadn't ought ter."
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two birds and nest
A glowin the sunshine,A pulse in the air,A something of gladness—We cannot tell where;Blue, born of heaven,Filling the sky;A laugh in the brookletHastening by;A stirring of insectsWaking the wood;Prayer breathed in secret:"God, thou art good!"Little birds humming;Joy all around—The flowers must be comingOut of the ground!They're coming! They're coming!Daffodils sweet—Hear the grass whisperUnder our feet!Telling of daisies,Telling of clover,Telling of beautyAll the world over!Looking up brightlyWhere the sun shines,Sending a messageUp to the vines:"Wake from your slumbers,Summon your powers,Put forth your tendrils:They're coming—the flowers!"They're coming! They're coming!'Tis writ on the air,In incense and harmonyBreathed everywhere!Winds murmur no longerTheir woe to the pines—But spiders are spinningTheir gossamer lines.Blue-birds are dartingThe branches among,Wild with a pleasureOnly half sung.Herd-bells are tinkling—Moonie, the cow,Crops the young grassletsEmerald now.High on the roof-topSparrows look forth,Watching for travellersFlying to north—Twittering sparrows!Blithesome and true,Younever left usAll winter through.Brave little sparrows!No tempest lowers—Blest is your waiting:They're coming—the flowers!They're coming! They're coming!The beautiful throng,To sooth us and cheer usThe whole summer long.By brook and in meadow,Woodland and glade,Through moonlight and starlight,Sunshine and shade,They're creeping, they're springing,They're climbing the hill,They're twining and clinging—Though under ground still.The blue-birds have called them—(Praise God for it all!)They have heard, and alreadyThey answer the call!O Snow-white and Purple,Pink, Yellow, and Blue!Lie close to their heartsTill the day they come through.O spirit of Beauty!Spirit of Grace!Still bide ye above themWatching the place.Fragrance and Loveliness!Still hover near,Soon shall your hostsIn their glory appear.Surely the Spring-timeIs crowning its hours—They're coming! They're coming!The beautiful flowers!
flowers
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crow in kerchief wearing tailcoat and holding a top hat
Giveme something to eat,Good people, I pray;I have really not hadOne mouthful to-day!I am hungry and cold,And last night I dreamedA scarecrow had caught me—Good land, how I screamed!Of one little childrenAnd six ailing wives(No, one wife and six children),Not one of them thrives.So pity my case,Dear people, I pray;I'm honest, and reallyI've come a long way.
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A realhorse is good,But a horse made of woodIs a much better horsey for me;For he needn't be tied,And he's steady beside,And never gets lazy, you see.When pulled, he will go;And he stops when you "whoa!"For he always is willing to please;And though you may stayBy the water all day,Not once for a drink will he tease.Not a handful of feed,All his life, does he need;And he never wants brushing or combing:And after a raceAll over the place,He never stands panting and foaming.He doesn't heed flies,Though they light on his eyes;Mosquitoes and gnats he won't mind:And he never will shy,Though a train whizzes by,But always is gentle and kind.A real horse, some day,Will be running away;A donkey issoapt to kick;A goat will upset you,A doggie will fret you—Your wooden horse hasn't a trick!No chance of a crash,Or a runaway smash,Though never so playful and free.Oh! I like when I driveTo be brought home alive—So a fine wooden horsey for me!
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Tinker, come bring your solder,And mend this watch for me.Haymaker, get some fodder,And give my cat his tea.Cobbler, my horse is limping,He'll have to be shod anew;While the smith brings forge and hammerTo make my daughter a shoe.Bestir yourselves, my lazies!I give you all fair warning:You must do your work 'twixt twelve at night,And an hour before one in the morning.
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Therewas a rare boy who fell ill,And begged them to give him a pill;"For my kind parents' sake,The dose I will take,"Said this rare little boy who fell ill.
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"Mamma!mamma!" two eaglets cried,"To let us fly you've never tried.We want to go outside and play;We'll promise not to go away."The mother wisely shook her head:"No, no, my dears. Not yet," she said."But, mother dear," they called again,"We want to see those things called men,And all the world so grand and gay,Papa described the other day.And—don't you know?—he told you thenAbout a little tiny wren,That flew about so brave and bold,When it was scarcely four weeks old?"But still the mother shook her head;"No, no, my dears, not yet," she said."Before you see the world below,Far bigger you will have to grow.There's time enough to look for men;And as for wrens—a wren's a wren.What if your freedom does come late?An eaglet can afford to wait."
mother eagle seeing larger eagly flying in distance"NO, NO, MY DEARS, NOT YET," SHE SAID.
"NO, NO, MY DEARS, NOT YET," SHE SAID.
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"Och, save us!" cried Betty, "I'm 'most driven wild;Would you shtep here a moment, ma'am, please?For the sowl of me, ma'am, I can't ready the childWhile he keeps up such doin's as these."I might better be curlin' a porkerpine quill,Or washin' the face of a eel,Than be dressin' of him—for he never keeps still'Less I howld him by neck an' by heel."It's three blissed times since I put on his clothesThat he's wriggled stret off o' the chair;Not a moment ago he attack-ted me nose,And it's twice he's been into me hair."If ye'll credit me, ma'am, wid his cryin' an' kickin',He's brought tears to my eyes, ma'am, like rain—If he wasn't so bad, ma'am, I wouldn't be speakin',For I niver was one to complain."Thus summoned, I went to the nursery-door,There sat master Johnny, a-pout.And I said, as I lifted him up from the floor,"Why, Johnny, what's all this about?"A scream was his answer. His flushed little faceLooked angrily up into mine;"Oo hurt!" "Do I, Johnny? Where?—show me the place!"But his cry only changed to a whine.In a moment, I found out the cause of the trouble—'Twas a pin, pricking deep in his side;And she, in her roughness, had bent the thing double—No wonder my darling had cried!Poor Johnny! He sobbed on my shoulder awhile,Then held up his face to be kissed;(If Betty went back to the Emerald Isle,I know where she wouldn't be missed.)Soon, meek as a lamb when the tempest is whirling,And the shepherd is deaf to his bleat,Our Johnny submitted to washing and curling,Till Betty proclaimed him "complete."