Come and get it
Come and get it
Comeand get it, little pet—Try again—you’ll have it yet!’Tis a ring that sparkles bright,And delights thy infant sight.I wonder not, my little boy,Thou art eager for the toy;Grown-up people strive to graspThe gold thy little hands would clasp.Though we call thee silly boy,Thus to love an idle toy,Still, what better are the old,Whose cherished bauble is but gold?Are they not little children yet,Like our little thoughtless pet,Those who strive with eager lustTo gather heaps of shining dust?Fare thee well, my little friend;May thy mother o’er thee bend,And whisper in thy tender heart,A better love—a wiser part;So that thou, to manhood grown,May fix thy love on Truth, alone.This is better, far, than gold,This will serve thee, young or old;This will brighter grow with years,Cheer thee through this vale of tears;And as current coin will payFor all thy wants, on heaven’s way.Parley’s Picture Book. New edition.
Comeand get it, little pet—Try again—you’ll have it yet!’Tis a ring that sparkles bright,And delights thy infant sight.I wonder not, my little boy,Thou art eager for the toy;Grown-up people strive to graspThe gold thy little hands would clasp.Though we call thee silly boy,Thus to love an idle toy,Still, what better are the old,Whose cherished bauble is but gold?Are they not little children yet,Like our little thoughtless pet,Those who strive with eager lustTo gather heaps of shining dust?Fare thee well, my little friend;May thy mother o’er thee bend,And whisper in thy tender heart,A better love—a wiser part;So that thou, to manhood grown,May fix thy love on Truth, alone.This is better, far, than gold,This will serve thee, young or old;This will brighter grow with years,Cheer thee through this vale of tears;And as current coin will payFor all thy wants, on heaven’s way.Parley’s Picture Book. New edition.
Comeand get it, little pet—
Try again—you’ll have it yet!
’Tis a ring that sparkles bright,
And delights thy infant sight.
I wonder not, my little boy,
Thou art eager for the toy;
Grown-up people strive to grasp
The gold thy little hands would clasp.
Though we call thee silly boy,
Thus to love an idle toy,
Still, what better are the old,
Whose cherished bauble is but gold?
Are they not little children yet,
Like our little thoughtless pet,
Those who strive with eager lust
To gather heaps of shining dust?
Fare thee well, my little friend;
May thy mother o’er thee bend,
And whisper in thy tender heart,
A better love—a wiser part;
So that thou, to manhood grown,
May fix thy love on Truth, alone.
This is better, far, than gold,
This will serve thee, young or old;
This will brighter grow with years,
Cheer thee through this vale of tears;
And as current coin will pay
For all thy wants, on heaven’s way.
Parley’s Picture Book. New edition.