• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Title Page
 Errata
 Dedication
 Preface
 Table of Contents
 Nature
 Miscellaneous
 Sacred
 Back Cover
 Spine






Title: Poetry for childhood
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Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00001930/00001
 Material Information
Title: Poetry for childhood original and selected
Physical Description: xii, 171 p. : ; 20 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Jermyn, Louisa Emily
Cleaver, William Jones ( Publisher )
Crisp, Read ( Printer )
Publisher: W. J. Cleaver
Place of Publication: London
Manufacturer: Read Crisp
Publication Date: 1851
 Subjects
Subject: Children's poetry   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1851   ( lcsh )
Embossed cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1851   ( rbbin )
Bldn -- 1851
Genre: Children's poetry   ( lcsh )
Embossed cloth bindings (Binding)   ( rbbin )
poetry   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
 Notes
Statement of Responsibility: by Louisa Emily Jermyn.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00001930
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: ltqf - AAA1897
notis - ALH2553
oclc - 45568718
alephbibnum - 002232161

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Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Title Page
        Page i
    Errata
        Page ii
    Dedication
        Page iii
    Preface
        Page iv
        Page v
        Page vi
        Page vii
        Page viii
    Table of Contents
        Page ix
        Page x
        Page xi
        Page xii
    Nature
        Page 1
        Page 2
        Page 3
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    Miscellaneous
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    Sacred
        Page 119
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Full Text



-POETRY


FOR


CHILDHOOD,


triginnl nubh lrrtteh :

BY


LOUISA EMILY JERMYN.


Well sounding verses are the charms we use
Heroic thoughts and virtue to infuse;
Things of deep sense we may in prose unfold,
But they move more in lofty numbers told.
By the loud trumpet, which our courage aids,
We know that sound, as well as sense, persuades.
WVALLER.




LONDON:
PUBLISH ED BY W. J. CLEAVER, 46, PICCADILLY.
PRINTED BY READ CRISP, BECCLES.
MDCCCLI.


~ ~






















ERRATA.
Running Title, Youth for Childhood page 18 to 46.






















READ CRISP, PRINTER, BECCLES.





















WHOSE


TO MY DEAR FATHER,


PECULIAR ATTACHMENT TO


CHILDREN,


FOR THE INSTRUCTION,


AND AMUSEMENT


OF WHOM,


THIS VOLUME


HAS BEEN


COMPILED,


WILL IT IS BELIEVED


RENDER


AN ACCEPTABLE


AND NOT


INAPPROPRIATE


OFFERING AND TRIBUTE OF AFFECTION,


IT IS INSCRIBED


BY HIS CHILD.


IT











PREFACE.

LOOKING at the great variety of poetical collections
which have been made for the nursery, especi-
ally of late years, it may perhaps be questioned,
whether there is sufficient space left in the library of
childhood for another: admitting the doubt, I
have ventured to try the question, and the recep-
tion given to my little offering will decide it.
In common with those who have preceded me,
I have pursued my undertaking on a plan of my
own ;and this plan I have endeavoured to make
subservient to the inculcation of principles, which
I cannot but think ought to be first principles:
that I have succeeded in my object, I dare not
flatter myself-to have made any advance towards
it, will content my humble ambition.
The education of children in these days is con-
ducted upon a system very different from that
which was formerly pursued; it is only gradually
we have arrived at the conclusion, that even
infants are reasoning and reasonable beings: that
from the moment they begin to take notice, their
attention may be directed; and how important to
them, and to us, the direction then given must be,
is obvious. Long before a child can speak, it can
understand; long before it can comprehend words,
it apprehends signs; it distinguishes between a






PREFACE.


smile and a fiown: its fretfulness is subdued hv an
uplifted finger; and its distress soothed by a soft
accent: we know that it is sensible of pleasure,
and also pain, because it gives voice to both. The
mind in infancy has been happily compared to a
sheet of white paper which retains whatever cha-
racters are first traced upon it: can we then, be
too careful in our outlines of the design ?-true,
that from the finger of time it will receive the
touches, the shade and the colouring, necessary to
its perfection; but if the lines are crooked, if the
perspective be faulty, even the great Detector,
Time, will fail to rectify its original defects.
One of the prevailing distinctions of the modem
system of education, is the use which it makes of
illustration. Illustrated reading books, illustrated
spelling books, illustrated multiplication tables,
and even illustrated grammars! thus assuming
the increased facility, with which the human
intellect is to be acted upon, through the senses:
and although there may be great reason to fear
that the understanding will suffer from never being
directly appealed to, never being directly exercised,
yet, on the other hand, the results of this 'instruc-
tion made easy' system, are decidedly in favor of
it; and indeed we have around us, throughout
the whole natural world, evident assurance that it
was the ifention of the Divine Father himself,
that we should so learn, viz. through our senses:
there is not one object which the eye could desire,
not a sound which the ear could covet, but He has
gratified it: nor these alone, smell, and taste, and





11 Pit E FAC E.

feeling lie has ministered to, n leMss. By ,and
to our senses He has manifested Himself. By
and through our senses, He would have us
acknowledge Him.
And has le not opened before us a glorious
volume, from whose illuminated pages, rich and
poor, may alike derive instruction ? What illus-
trations indeed, can art produce to equal these,
with which nature abounds ? here every leaf has
a voice, every flower a moral-a voice and a moral
too, which the young child may be taught to
appreciate, long before a picture book can convey
a meaning, much more impart a lesson, to its
mind.
For this reason, in my present volume, as in
that, for which it is intended as a preparation, I
have selected from the poetry of NATURE first;
availing myself of most subjects which could be
made instructive to a child: that I have sometimes
advanced in language beyond their simplicity, I
am aware, but never, I hope, in sense ; and the
former only, because it was difficult to avoid doing
so. Language is arbitrary, especially so whcn
words must be limited and syllables measured; and
although this admission must not be taken as
an argument against poetry as a mode of early
instruction, I would offer it as a plea for myself
whenever my verses may not appear sufficiently
simple.
In my arrangement I have placed the sACRED
POETRY last. Having in the first instance endea-
voured to lead the young mindi to 'look from






11I EF 14 E AiE


nature up to nature's God,' I have devoted an
intermediate season in attempting to subdue those
evil passions which, whilst they exist, uncontrolled
by reason anid religion, must form an insuperable
barrier between the creature and the Creator. I
put reason before religion because it is certain that
reason will exercise the first control; it is quite
possible, to a certain extent, to preserve a child's
heart comparatively innocent, a child's thoughts
comparatively pure; but it is wholly impossible to
secure it altogether against the consequences of
our first parents' fall. From the cradle to the grave
man bears manifestly about him the effects of that
transgression,
'Which brought death into the world, and all our woe.'
But so also, from the cradle to the grave may
man become, day by day, more and more likened
to the divine image in which he was originally
made: and from his cradle this great truth should
be set and kept ever before him--not at once
indeed, because it is only by a slow and gradual
ascent that the human comprehension can soar so
high-but having once conveyed to it the idea of
God, and of His infinite goodness, wisdom, and
mercy, it will very soon become sensible, that it is
under moral and spiritual obligations to Him. The
heart of a child is peculiarly alive to religious
impressions, and they cannot be given too early;
every year, as it takes from its simplicity, adds to
it another and another touch of the World, and
inclines it to a downward tendency difficult to
counteract: unless it grows in grace, as it grows


vil





ilI PRE FACE.

in stature, it daily increases the distance between
itself and God.
It would not, of course, be desirable to perplex
a child's mind with doctrines; and in my religious
poetry I have endeavoured to avoid doing so. I
have, indeed, feebly attempted to assist it to un-
derstand somewhat of the unspeakable advantages
derived from its Regeneration by the blessed Sacra-
ment of Baptism: seeing that our holy Mother
Church, in her care for her children, has pro-
vided for their early instruction on this most
important point; and that we should be wanting
in due obedience to Her if we neglected to avail
ourselves of her gracious provisions. Further
I have not attempted in this volume, to set
before them the inestimable privileges apper-
taining to them, as members of Christ's visible
kingdom here on earth: reserving this, for a period
when the heart, having been duly prepared by its
initiation into the mysteries of his invisible king-
dom in heaven, will be better able to use and
appreciate the means afforded it for the recovery,
of its lost inheritance.
For some of the selections in this volume, I am
indebted to the courtesy of the Rev. R. C. Trench;
Mr. Pickering, Piccadilly; Messrs. Mozley, Derby;
Mr. Nelson, Edinburgh; and the Religious Tract
Society. For others, to several valuable collections
which have long since preceded mine, in further-
ance of the object which, however imperfect my
success may be, I have at least earnestly endea-
voured to promote.














CONTENTS.




NATURE.


The Snowdrop
Spring Flowers
The Daisy
The Violet .
The Primrose .
The Rosebud
Why must the Flo
The Rose .
The Bee
The Worm .
To a Butterfly
The Butterfly
The Little Ants
The Wasp and Bee
The Lamb
The Dog .
The Cow
The Donkey .
The Bird's Nest
The Robin
The Lark .
On Instinct
The Star
Moniing
The Brook and the
The Tt'mpist .
The Rainbow
The Stun, part .


S. Hymnsfor little
SA. Strickland .
S Dr. Good .


4 .


a


w r
Fade .
SCouper .
. Watts .
S tAnon .
SOriginal Poems
. S
Rhymesfor thel
. Ibid


* 4 *


SRhymesfor he -
h
SRhymesfor the
U F


1


4 1
.Langhorne
i rhymesfor the I
Hymnsfor nffan
S Hymnsfor the 1
S Oryinyal Poems
Fuulltaiii Peter ParIey


H r fan
. Hymnsfor Infan
. -M 4f


Page.
children 3

S 4
6
6
7
9
10
S 11
11
21
13
Nursery 15
16
17
18
Nursery 19
20
21
23
Nursery 24
t Schools 25
Nursery 26
27
28
29
t Schools 31
31


wers


. .


T


4






ft4NTEN T3.


The Sun,
Day
Night
Spring
Summer
Autumn
Winter
What is t


pa]
v


that


rt2 .






M e .-- D
; Mother? Done


MISCELLANEOUS.


Obedience .
What Little Children Bhould do
What they should not do
Little Wren's Forgiveness #
To a little Girl who told a Falsehood
Truth .
My Mother *
Passion .
Curiosity .
Envy .
Peevishness
Fretfulness
I will and I wont ,
Promises ,
Obedience
Perseverance .
ity .
Forgiveness .
Thankfulness
Praise .
The Golden Rule
Pictures
Beauty
Pleasure .
Fairies .
Fear
Painu .


The Wren
Ibid .
Ibid
Rhymesfor the Nursery

Original Poetry









Hymnsfor Infant Schools




Trench .

Child's Book of Poetry


33
35
36
38
39
41
43
1. 45


49
51
52
654
55
57
58
60
61
62
64
65
67
68
69
70
72
73
74
75
77
77
78
80
82
84
86






CONTENTS.


The Death Bed
The First Grief .
We are Seven
The Complaint of the Poor
Deeds not Words .
The Shadows
Vanity .
Hymn of the Blind .
The Cottager to her Infant
The Alphabet .
The Nine Parts of Speech
The Holiday
On seeing a Youth affectionately
welcomed by a Sister
The Three Sons .
The Watch .
The Smile .
The Tear .
Seeing .
Hearing .
Smelling .
Tasting .
Feeling .
The Kiss .


Hood .
Hemans .
Wordsworth
Southey
Lyra Apostolica
Pretty Poems for Children
Rhymes for the Nursery
A. Strickland
IWordsworth

Child's Book of Poetry


Coleridge
Moultree


SACRED.


Prayer ,
The Lord's Prayer .
The Apostles' Creed
God is in Heaven .
Praise God
Praise for Creation, &c.
The Beauties of Creation
Looking Upward .
Iunmilit .
Faith .
This World is a a a Fleeting Show


121
122
123
Hymns for infant Schools 125
Watts 126
Ibid 127
Heber 128
129
James AMontgomery 130
Church Poetry 131
Moore 131


87
88
89
92
94
95
96
97
98
98
99


100

. 102
102
107
108
109
110
111il
113
114
116
118







c ONTEN!


A Child's Thoughts on Death
She is not Dead but Sleepeth Dr. Hind
The Two Worlds .School-room Lyrics
The Bird let Loose, &c. Moore
A Child's Answer .Church Poetry
Brotherly Love Hymnsfor Infant Schools
The Star of Bethlehem Kirke White
The Birth of Jesus Christ .
Christ Tarries in the Temple .
The Baptism of Jesus Christ
The Temptation of Jesus Christ -
Jesus Christ blesses Little Children--
The Betrayal of Jesus Christ, part 1


part 2-


Jesus Christ denied 1
The Crucifixion
The Resurrection
The Ascension .
Sunday
Behaviour at Church
The Two Books .
Holy Baptism
The Saints
The Angels
The Trinity
The Better Land


SPeter .----
rr .
--

I ,

S-----
U

S*
* .*
U -

S lHemans


132
134
135
135
136
137
138
139
141
143
145
147
149
150
151
153
155
157
159
160
161
163
165
166
167
168


'By Cool Siloam's Shady Rill'


xll


---- ^ -PsC~i s4PL


'4'


Heber


4 17





















Mature.


lOH ALL YE WORKS OF THE LORD, BLESS YE THE LORD,
PRAISE HIM, AND MAONIFY HIM FOR EVER.


CANTICLE.








THE SNOWDROP.


Snowdrop Nature's first-born darling,
Fairest, purest, child of earth;
Lift thy drooping head, and tell us
Of the God who gave thee birth.

Little children! I am lowly,
Unto me hath not been given
Lofty voice to sing His praises,
Upward eye to lift to Heaven.

He is God ; and He hath made me
Modest in my look and station;
I am but a still small whisper
Of the voice which fills creation.

Bnt when all my prouder kindred,
Frighten'd, hide them in the carth,
I am heard amidst the whirlwind,
And the storm of winter's wrath.

Pale and downcast, timid, trembling,
Rudely cradled, roughly nursed,
I, of every flower, am chosen
To proclaim His glory first.

And 'tis thus that I would teach thee,
If thou dost his favor seek,
That the Lord our God exalteth
Most the humble and the meek.'
A2





POETRY lOR CHILDIIOOD.


SPRING FLOWERS.
AGNES STRICKLAND.
Welcome little lbuttercups !
0 the pretty flowers,
Coming cro the spring tine,
To tell of sunny hours.
While the trees are leafless,
While the fields are bare,
Golden glossy buttercups
Spring up here and there.

Welcome little buttercups!
Welcome daisies white!
Ye are in my spirit
Visioned a delight;
Corning ere the spring tic,
Of sunny hours to tell;
Speaking to our hearts of Him
Who dooth all things well.


THE DAISY.
DR. GOOD,
Not worlds on worlds, inl masses deep,
Need we to prove a God is here ;
The daisy, fresh from nature's sleep,
Tells of his hand in lines as clear.






NATURE.


For who but He who arched the skies,
And pours the day-spring's living flood-
Wond'rous alike in all He tries-
Could raise the daisy's purple bud,
Mould its green cup, its wiry stem,
Its fringed border nicely spin,
And cut the gold-embossed gem,
That, set in silver, gleams within;
And fling it, unrestrained and free,
O'er hill and dale, and desert sod,
That man, where'cr he walks, may see
In every step the stamp of God.



THE VIOLET.

I know a little timid child,
Not more than five years old;
A dark-eyed darling, with a face
Most pleasing to behold.
Her little voice is never heard
In noisy tones, 'tis said;
And never does her footstep fall
With rude, or boisterous tread.

She has an air as if she feared
To meet the gazer's eye;
And never ventures to intrude
If elder ones arc by.
A3






POETRY lFOR CHILDHOOD.


But if they notice take of her,
She lifts her modest head;
And shapes her answers prettily,
Whatever may be said.

Her gentle whisper greets your ear,
Her happy face your gaze ;
And you feel her presence constantly,
By a thousand winning ways.

To many a little forward child
She doth example set;
I never see her but I think
She's like the violet:

Which shrinking from the common view,
Amid its leaves concealed,
By the sweet fragrance which it yields,
Is ever still revealed.

THE PRIMROSE.

Beneath the hedge-row's humble shade
A modest flow'ret grows,
Whose name bespeaks its greatest charm,
'Tis nature's earliest rose.

When Winter yields his sullen reign
To Spring's more gentle power,
Full many a youthful loiterer's voice
Doth welcome thee, sweet flower.






NATURE.


Thy colour doth not woo the eye,
Nor perfume scent the gale ;
Meekly thou lift'st thy lowly head
In pensive beauty pale.

There's not a heart which doth not own
Thy pure and simple worth;
Though many a gayer one than thee
Laughs on the lap of earth.

And so it ever is with all
Creation's world can boast;
'Tis not her proudest, gaudiest works,
Attract our love the most

The virtues which our gaze would shun
Are still the best revealed;
And praise by modesty unsought
Most readily we yield.

Beauty in all its various forms
Must captivating be;
But the most lovely thing we know
Is this-humility.


THE ROSE BUD.
I watched it opening day by day,
That sweet and folded flower;
And saw fresh beauties, one by one,
Expanding every hour.





POETRY FOR CHILDHOOD.


I marked the dew-drop as it lay
So lightly on its leaves;
And unto me it seemed to say,
S* Tis thus that childhood grieves.

I saw beneath the sun's bright ray
The moisture disappear;
As I have often seen a smile
Dispel an infant's tear.

The beauteous tint, whose roseate dye
The tender bud did streak,
Was like the pure and healthful hue,
The bloom on childhood's cheek.

And oh how like the rosy morn
Of childhood's earliest life !
Scarce conscious of the sharpening thorn,
Which tells of coming strife.

Yes, even from the budding rose
Instruction may be drawn;
A lesson meet for childhood's lips,
Not age itself would scorn :-

How they should prize their first bright days,
And use as best they can ;
For brief, and beautiful as brief,
Is childhood's little span !






NATURE.


WHIlY MUST THE FLOWERS FADE.

Why must the roses fade, Manmi ?
Why do the flowers die ?
They've lasted such a little while,
And now they're passing by.
I cannot bear to part with them,
They look so bright and gay;
And I have loved and watched them so-
Do ask the flowers to stay.

I cannot bid them stay, my child;
For God himself hath said,
Who fashioned every living thing,
'All earthly things must fade;'
And by the falling leaves, my child,
And by the withered flowers,
IHe means, indeed, to teach us all
That nothing long is ours.

But do not look so sadly grave,
For bright as brief their reig ;
They only die a little while,
And then they bloom again.
And here another lesson see,
Which God would have us learn,
We too nmust perish c'c1 as tley
like them, to life return.






!ro0F .TIY FOR CHILDHOOD.


TH E ROSE.

COWPER.


The rose had been wash'd, just wash'd by a
shower,
Which Mary to Anna conveyed;
The plentiful moisture encumbered the flower,
And weighed down its beautiful head.

The cup was all filled, the leaves were all wet,
And it seemed, to my fanciful view,
To weep for the buds it had left with regret,
On the flourishing bush where it grew.

I hastily seized it, unfit as it was
For a nosegay, so dripping and drowned;
And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas !
I snapped it,-it fell to the ground.

And such, I exclaimed, is the pitiless part
Some act by the delicate mind;
Regardless of wringing or breaking a heart,
Already to sorrow resigned.

This elegant rose, had I shaken it less,
Might have bloomed with its owner awhile;
And the tear that is wiped with a little address,
Might be followed perhaps by a smile.


10







NATURE.


THE B E E.
WATTS.

Hlow doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour;
And gather honey all the day,
From every opening flower
How skilfully she builds her cell,
How neat she spreads the wax!
And labours hard to store it well
With the sweet food she makes.
In works of labour, or of skill,
I would be busy too;
For Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.
In books, or work, or healthful play,
Let my first years be past;
That I may give for every day
Some good account at last.


THE WORM.
ANON.

Turn, turn, thy hasty foot aside,
Nor crush that helpless worm ;
The frame thy wayward looks deride
Required a itGod to form.


11






POETRY FOR CHILDHOOD.


The comnliuon Lord of all that move,
From whom thy being flow'd,
A portion of his boundless love
On that poor worm bcstow'd.

The sun, the moon, the stars he made
To all his creatures free;
And spread o'er earth the grassy blade
For worms, as well as thee.

Let them enjoy their little day,
Their lowly bliss receive ;
O do not lightly take away
The life thou canst not give.




TO A BUTTERFLY ON GIVING IT
LIBERTY.

FROM ORIGINAL POEMS.

Poor harmless insect, thither fly,
And life's short hour enjoy;
Tis all thou hast, and why should-I
That little all destroy ?

Why should ry tyrant will suspend
A life by Wisdom given ?
Or sooner bid thy being end
Than was designed 1b hclav'n ?


12







13


NATURIE.


Lost to the joy which reason knows,
Thy bosom, fair and frail,
LIoves best to wander where the rose
Perfumes the cooling gale.
To bask upon the sunny bed,
The damask flower to kiss,
To rove along the bending shade,
Is all thy little bliss.
Then flutter still thy silken wings,
In rich ncmbroid'ry drest;
And sport upon the gale that flings
Sweet odours from his vest.


THE BUTTERFLY.

A Dialogue.

Butterfly, Butterfly,
Come from your bower,
And rest for awhile
On this beautiful flower;
I'vo something to ask you,
Now don't fly away,
I'm not going to catch you,
Sweet butterfly, stay.

Little one, little one,
What would you say ?
I cannot quite trust you;






POETRY FOR CHILD II OD.


Perhaps in your play,
Though I don't think you look
Like a bad little boy,
You may chase me, and seize me,
And make me a toy.
Butterfly, butterfly,
Prythee come here;
I would not so treat you,
You've nothing to fear:
But I want so to know,
As you constantly roam
From one flower to another,
If you have not a home ?
Little one, little one,
Listen to me;
'Tis my nature to rove
With a wing light and free:
I dwell in the sunshine,
And rest on the flowers;
And in pastime like this
I consume the bright hours.
Butterfly, butterfly,
Can this be true ?
Do you mean that you really
Have nothing to do,
But to live, and be idle,
And happy all day ?
I thought it was wrong
To be always at play.


14






NATURE:, 1

Little one, little one,
So it would be
If you were to do so,
But 'tis not for me;
I was not made to work,
And my life is so short;
But you little ones were,
And therefore you ought.
Butterfly, butterfly,
Why then were you made ?
For your beautiful form,
And your colors soon fade:
I have heard that all creatures,
The work of God's mind,
In his wisdom so great,
For some use were designed.
Little one, little one,
You have heard well;
And useless as I am,
A purpose I tell;
I shew forth His glory,
And tell of His power,
Quite as much as a bee,
Or a bird, or a flower.

THE LITTLE ANTS.
FROM RHYMES FOR THE NURSERY,
A little black ant found a large grain of wheat,
Too heavy to lift or to roll;





16


POETRY FOR CHILDHOOD.


So he begged of a neighbour he happened to meet,
To help it down into his hole.

I've got my own work to see after, said he,
You must shift for yourself, if you please;
So he crawled off as selfish and cross as could be,
And lay down to sleep at his ease.

Just then a black brother was passing the road,
And seeing his neighbour in want,
Came up and assisted him in with his load;
For he was a good nature ant.

Let all, who this story may happen to hear,
Endeavour to profit by it;
For often it happens that children appear
As cross as the ant, ev'ry bit.

And the good natured ant, who assisted his brother,
May teach those who choose to be taught,
That if little insects are kind to each other,
Little children most certainly ought.



A WASP AND A BEE.

FROM RHYMES FOR THE NURSERY.
A wasp met a bee that was just buzzing by,
And he said, little cousin, can you tell me why
You are loved so much better by people, than I ?




"r

NATURE. 17 4

My back shines as bright and as yellow as gold,
And my shape is most elegant too, to behold;
Yet nobody likes me for that, I am told.
Ah cousin, the bee said, 'tis all very true,
But if I were half as much mischief to do,
Indeed they would love me no better than you :

You have a fine shape, and a delicate wing,
They own you are handsome, but then there's one
thing
They cannot put up with, and that is your sting.

My coat is quite homely and plain, as you see,
Yet nobody ever is angry with me,
Because I am a humble and innocent bee.

From this little story let children beware,
Because-like the wasp, if ill-natured they are,
They will never be lov'd, if they're ever so fair.


THE LAMB.

See how the careful shepherd guards
His tender flock from ill ;
The care which keeps them thro' the light,
In darkness keeps them still.
And should one foolish little thing
Stray from the shepherd's eye,
In hope to bring the wanderer back
lie seeks it constantly.
B






POETRY FOR YOUTH.


So, little children


when they love


His will,


and do


His word,


A good, and gracious Shepherd have


In Jesus


Christ


their Lord,


His love protects them
And guides them th


thro' the night,


ro' the


day;


His care provides whatever they need,


The Saviour's

And when they


lambs are they.

do not heed his will,


Or do


as they


Like little lambs


are told,
they go astray,


And leave the Saviour's fold.
He ne'er forsakes them who have once


Upon his


bosom


But he will seek with ceaseless care


To win them


back again.


Their frequent faults he will forgive,
If they will try and learn.
To hate the sins their Saviour hates,
And to his love return.



T I E D 0G.

The dog is man's most faithful friend
Of all the lower race;
For ever at his master's side,
He knows no happier place.


lain;


18






POETRY FOR YOUTH.


So, little children


when they love


His will,


and do


His word,


A good, and gracious Shepherd have


In Jesus


Christ


their Lord,


His love protects them
And guides them th


thro' the night,


ro' the


day;


His care provides whatever they need,


The Saviour's

And when they


lambs are they.

do not heed his will,


Or do


as they


Like little lambs


are told,
they go astray,


And leave the Saviour's fold.
He ne'er forsakes them who have once


Upon his


bosom


But he will seek with ceaseless care


To win them


back again.


Their frequent faults he will forgive,
If they will try and learn.
To hate the sins their Saviour hates,
And to his love return.



T I E D 0G.

The dog is man's most faithful friend
Of all the lower race;
For ever at his master's side,
He knows no happier place.


lain;


18






NATURE.


His warning voice is often heard
To tell of danger near;
Quick to obey his master's word,
And slow his foes to fear.
No stranger can his service win
From him to whom 'tis due;
One master, and but one, he owns,
And unto him how true!
For even should his faithful love
Meet with unkind return-
E'en though his honest services
Some thankless master spurn-

He meekly bears, though undeserv'd,
Harsh word, or cruel slight,
Almost as if ho reason had
To teach him what was right.

Children indeed who reason have,
And blessed with power of speech,
Patience, obedience, love, and truth,
The poor dumb dog might teach.


THE COW.
FROM RHYMES FOR THE NURSERY.

Thank you, pretty cow, that made
Pleasant milk to soak my bread;
Every day, and every night,
Warm, and fresh and sweet and white.
B2


19






POETRY FOR YOUTH.


Do not chew the hemlock rank,
Growing on the weedy bank ;
But the yellow cowslips eat,
They will make it very sweet.
Where the purple violet grows,
Where the bubbling water flows,
Where the grass is fresh and fine,
Pretty cow go there and dine.



THE DONKEY.

Poor patient beast how sad thy fate,
How rudely, hardly used !
And for thy very patience too
More cruelly abus'd.
Well may'st thou shrink at man's approach,
And twist thy timid head;
Well may'st thou lay thy long, rough cars
With such instinctive dread.
And yet how useful is thy life,
How very small thy need;
Give thee thy thistles, and thy drink,
Thou art content indeed.
What heavy burdens thou wilt bear,
And what a toilsome way
Thy little limbs will travel o'er,
From weary day to day.


20






NATURE.


I cannot think how any one
Has heart to use you so;
For all your labor you but get
From man a savage blow.
Some wicked people I have known
Will study to invent,
And fashion various kinds of tools,
More surely to torment.
And yet, poor donkey, unto all
How tamely you submit;
I'm sure I'd kick if I were you,
And would not work a bit.
Stay, little one-before you teach,
This better lesson learn;
To bear as meekly when reprov'd,
And good for ill return.




THE BIRD'S NEST.
A pretty bird had built its nest
Within a laurel's shade,
And very soft, and very warm,
Its little home had made.

Soon as the morning light appeared
It used to wing its way,
In search of tender twigs, to weave
With wool, and moss, and hay.
Bn3


21





POETRY FOR YOUTH.


Nor did it ever seem to tire,
But through the day it plied
Its busy beak, from cheerful morn,
'Till sober evening-tide.

And there its curious labor done
It kept its constant seat;
And soon some little nestlings lay
Within the soft retreat.
Then how the tender mother watched
Through sunshine, and through storm,
And o'er them spread her sheltering wing,
To keep them safe and warm.

Whilst perch'd upon a neighboring bough
Her mate would sit and sing,
Or seek the food the nestlings crav'd,
Or o'er them fold his wing.

Thus sharing all the work of love,
In innocence and joy,
The happy hours passed, until
A little thoughtless boy,
Watching the parent birds away,
Climb'd to the nest, and bore
Their treasur'd darlings from their care-
They never saw them more.

But when, the evening food obtained,
They took their homeward flight,
And laden with the hard-sought meil,
With fluttering wing alight


22






NATURE.


Upon the tree, the late abode
Of happiness and love,
What notes of shrill and plaintive woe
Our hearts with pity move !
Oh tell me, little children, ye
Who may my story read,
Do you not think 'twas very wrong
To do this barbarous deed.
Think of the labor, and the love,
Thus thoughtlessly destroyed;
And as you value home and friends,
To do the like avoid.

TO A ROBIN.
LANGHORNE.
Little bird, with bosom red,
Welcome to my humble shed;
Daily near my table steal,
While I take my scanty meal;
Doubt not, little though there be,
But I'll cast a crumb to thee;
Well rewarded if I spy
Pleasure in thy glancing eye;
And see thee when thou'st had thy fill
Plume thy breast, and wipe thy bill.
Come, my feather'd friend, again,
Well thou know'st the broken pane;
Ask of me thy daily store,
Ever welcome to my door,


23






POETRY FOR YOUTTH,


THE LARK.
FROM RIIYMES FOR THE NURSERY.

1 hear a pretty bird, but hark !
I cannot see it any where
Oh it is a little lark,
Singing in the morning air;
Little lark, do tell me why
You are singing in the sky.

Other little birds at rest
Have not yet began to sing;
Every one is im its nest,
With its head beneath its wing :
Little lark, then tell me why
You sing so early in the sky.

You look no bigger than a bee
In the middle of the blue,
Up above the poplar tree;
I can hardly look at you:
Come little lark, and tell me why
You are mounted up so high.

'Tis to watch the silver star
Sinking slowly in the skies;
And beyond the mountain far
To see the glorious sun arise:
Little lady, this is why
I am mounted up so high.


21






NATURE.


25


'Tis to sing a merry song
Of the pleasant morning light:
Why linger in my nest so long,
When the sun is shiining bright ?
Little lady, this is why
I sing so early in the sky.

To the littlee birds below
I do sing a merry tune;
And I let the ploughman know
He must come to labour soon;
Little lady, this is why
I am singing in the sky.


ON INSTINCT.
FROM HYMNS FOR INFANT SCHOOLS.
Who taught the bird to build her nest
Of wool and hay and moss ?
Who taught her how to weave it best,
And lay the twigs across ?

Who taught the busy bee to fly
Among the sweetest flowers,
And lay her store of honey by
To eat in Winter bowers ?

Who taught the little ants the way
Their narrow holes to bore,
And through the pleasant Summer's day
To gather up their store ?






POETRY FOR YOUTH.


'Twas God who taught them all the way,
And gave their little skill;
And teaches children how to pray,
And do his holy will.


THE STAR.
FROM HYMNS FOR THE NURSERY.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are !
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.
When the blazing sun is gone,
When he nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light ;
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.
Then the traveller in the dark
Thanks you for your tiny spark :
lie could nut see which way to go
If you did not twinkle so.
In the dark blue sky you keep,
And often through my curtains peep;
For you never shut your eye
Till the sun is in the sky.
As your bright and tiny spark
Lights the traveller in the dark,
Though I know not what you are,
Twinkle, twinkle, little star.


26






NATURE.


MORNING.

FROM ORIGINAL POEMS.

Awake, little girl, it is time to arise;
Come shake drowsy sleep from your eye ;
The lark is loud warbling his notes to the skies,
And the sun is far mounted on high.

O come, for the fields with gay flow'rets o'erflow,
The dew-drop is trembling still;
The lowing herds graze in the pastures below,
And the sheep-bell is heard from the hill.

O come, for tho bee has flown out of his bed,
To begin his employment anew;
The spider is weaving her delicate thread,
Which brilliantly glitters with dew.

0 come, for the ant has crept out of her cell,
Again to her labor she goes ;
She knows the true value of moments too well
To waste them in idle repose.

Awake, little sleeper, anld do not despise
Of insects instruction to ask;
From your pillow with good resolutions arise,
And cheerfully go to your task.


27






POETRY FOR YOUTH.


THE BROOK AND THE FOUNTAIN.

FROM PARLEY'S EVERY DAY BOOK.

A fountain varied gambols played
Close by an humble brook;
While gently murmuring through the glade
Its peaceful course it took.

Perhaps it gave one envious gaze
Upon the fountain's height,
While glittering in the morning rays
Pre-eminently bright.

In all the colors of the sky
Alternately it shone;
The brook observed it with a sigh,
But quietly roll'd on.

The owner of the fountain died;
Neglect soon brought decay;
The bursting pipes were ill supplied,
The fountain ceased to play.

But still the brook its peaceful course
Continued to pursue;
HIer ample inexhausted source
From nature's fount she drew.

Now, said the brook, I bless my fate,
My showy rival gone;
Contntnted in its native state
My little stream rolls on.


28






29


NATURE.

And all the world has cause indeed
To own with grateful heart,
How much great nature's works excel
The feeble works of art.'



THIE TEMPEST.


The glory of the


day is gone, the morning fresh


and fair,
It is so hot this afternoon, there's scarce a breath
of air;


The sky, which


was so clear and


blue, is


with threatening clouds,
And a gloom, as if of coming night, the darkened
landscape shrouds.


The little birds,


whose merry songs so lately pleased


mine ear,
Have sought the thicket's deepest shade,
a sound I hear,


Except amid the sighing trees the
mal moan,


and scarce


sad wind's


dis-


And such a heavy
alone.


Alone!


rolling sound, I


oh what a flash of light!


dread to be


the sky, so (lark


before,
For one short moment seemed on
an awful roar,


fire;


and what


black





POETRY FOR YOUTH.


As if the very clouds were rent-another and again--


And now


behold, descending


fast, the pelting,


pouring rain.


I thought


I was afraid just


now; when


first the


tempest broke
I did not like the thunder's voice,
who spoke;


but it


was God


He is not angry,
loud ;


though He speaks so


very, very


But nearer than He sometimes is; perhaps, in that
vast cloud.


I'll watch it, for I've often heard His
bright,


No wonder that His presence then


face is


very


should fill the


sky with light;
It makes me happy when I think of all I have been
told;


I do not know


why I


should


fear His glory to


behold.

Tis only those who love Him not who ought to be
afraid;


Who from His good and pleasant paths,
derers have strayed;


like wan-


His little lambs


who stay


with Him are always


safe from harm,
He guards them through the tempest's
His Almighty arm.


rage


with


30






NATURE.


THE RAINBOW.
FROM HYMNS FOR INFANT SCHOOLS.
Come see how fast the weather clears,
The sun is shining now;
And on the last dark cloud appears
A beauteous colour'd bow.

Tis God who makes the storm to cease,
And sun to shine again:
The rainbow is the sign of peace
Between himself and men.

This lovely bow he stretches forth,
And bends from shore to shore;
His own fair promise to the earth
He'll bring a flood no more.

Just such a bow shines brightly round
The throne of God in heaven;
Which shows his mercy has no bound,
And speaks of sins forgiven.


THE SUN.
Part 1st.
Tell me about the sun, mother,
It looks so wondrous bright;
I think I've heard you say, mother,
God made that shining light.


31





POETRY FOR YOUTH.


How could God make the sun, mother,
How could he place it there ;
Say, is it made of gold, mother,
It looks as if it were ?
Or isn't a ball of fire, mother ?
It is so nice and round;
And though it is so high, mother,
It warms the very ground.
How very strange it is, mother,
It seems to touch that tree;
I wish I were a bird, mother,
That I might fly and see.
It often goes away, mother--
It went away last night-
I could not see to play, mother,
Though the moon and stars were bright.
I slept a long, long time, mother,
And then I heard you say
'Twas time for me to wake, mother,
And rise, for it was day.
Where had the sun been then, mother?
Does it ever leave the sky ?
Does it really go to sleep, mother,
Like papa, and you, and I ?
Do the flowers love the sun, mother ?
They never seem so gay
When the solemn evening comes, mother,
And the light has passed away.


32






NATURE.


33


And the birds too cease their song, mother,
Wlhen the darkness lhas begun;
I have very often thought, mother,
They were talking to the sun.
I should like to go as near, mother,
As the merry lark can fly;
I can't think how our souls, mother,
Will ever reach the sky.
Will the angels fetch us there, mother,
Or shall we go alone ?
I am sure the blessed sun, mother,
Must be very near God's throne.
I hope that it will shine, mother,
Very brightly when I go-
Tell me all about it, mother,
I do so long to know.


THEIR SUN.
Part 2nd.
Yes, darling, yes, God made that sun,
Which looks so wondrous bright;
He only spake, and it was done;
He said, let there be light.'

We know not, love, of what 'tis made,
Man cannot reach so high;
We only sec it there displayed
Upon the clear blue sky.





POETRY FOR YOUTI.


It brightens all things: so the tree,
Whose branches we behold,
Catches its beams, and seems to be
Touched as with shining gold.

It rules the day: "when night comes on,
And moon and stars arise,
Then, love, that blessed sun is gone
To shine in other skies.

It never leaves its lofty place,
But moves the world around;
And shows the brightness of its face
Wherever man is found.

It hath no need of sleep or rest;
But since its glorious birth
Has kept its course from east to west,
Rejoicing all the earth.

Soon, as throughout the morning sky
Its kindly beams are shed,
Each floweret opes its beauteous eye,
And lifts its drooping head.

The birds forsake their bowers of green;
And mounting high and strong
On wing, the merry lark is seen,
Filling the air witli song.

But thou, my child, must be content
To tarry here below;


341






NATURE.


God never gave thee wings, or meant
That thou should'st travel so.
And though the lark can soar so high,
And sing so sweet a strain ;
It only seems to touch the sky,
And soon descends again.
But thou, if thy young heart be given
To God, that God, my love,
Will raise you to His glorious Heaven
To dwell with Him above.



DAY.
How pleasant from refreshing sleep
Our eyelids to unclose,
And see the cheerful light which breaks
Upon our sweet repose:
To meet the sun's first rosy ray,
Which ushers in the welcome day.

How pleasant from the shades of night,
And darkness, to revive,
To all the gladsome sights and sounds
Which make the world alive :
Once more to feel, once more to know
'The beauties of the world below.

How pleasant once again to hear
Love's re-awaken'd voice;
c2


35





POETRY FOR YOUTH.


Tlie accents of allectiou, which
So much the heart rejoice ;
And in its old accustomed place
To find each dear familiar face.

How pleasant with contented heart
Our duties to renew ;
To make the most of every hour
Our daily task to do:
Whatever the station which we dill,
To labour with a cheerful will.
How pleasant in the noontide heat
To seek the grateful shade,
And wander in the cool retreat
By lavish nature made :
Or in the Winter's gloomy day
To meet the sun's enlivening ray.
How pleasant is each hour of light;
How thankful should we feel
To Him, who by the glorious sun,
Himself doth most reveal:
Who spake and said, let there be light,'
And darkness passed away-
Ohl! unto Him may we devote,
And consecrate each day.

NIGHT.
Who does not love the night ?-
The placid peaceful hour,







N AT U IRE.


WVhell wtlraieLd with the busy dat y
Sweet sleep exerts her power.
Night how delightful and how blest,
When slumber holds the world in rest.
Who does not love the night-
When from a cloudless sky
The pale religious moon looks down
From her bright throne on high :
And all the glittering stars augment,
'lie wonders of the firmament ?
Who does not love the night-
When scarce a sound is heard
Save tlhe soft sighing of the wind
By which the leaves are stirr'd ;
Or in the quiet woodland vale
The jugging of the nightingale P

Who does not love the night-
When dreams the fancy cheat;
Or c'en, as if to cheer the gloom,
Our waking thoughts repeat:
And visions greet the slumbering eye,
l .inknown to cold reality ?

Who dues not love the night-
The time for thought and prayer;
WhenV mngels hover round our couch,
And keep their vigils there :
W ,ien through the daIrk uess (od is seen
B -tir tlimn Ito r li1Hlit hati hPeen ?
(. 3


37







POETRY FOR YOUTH.


Who does not love the night-
Who hath not felt indeed,
Of all the blessings which it brings,
How very great our need ?
Yet should we ever humbly pray
To he from sleep restored ;
And with an carnest spirit say,
Lighten our darkness Lord.'



SP RING.

The Culckoos old familiar note
Falls gladly on mine ear,
And biils me welcome once again
The Spring-time of the year.

The leafless groves, silent so long,
Now wake agaill to lifE,
And tuneful voices fill the woods
With winged music rife.

No longer now the branches bare
The Winter storm shall brave;
Again with verdure clothed, the trees
To softer breezes wave.

Thlle earth which, save one little giem
nlath nut il flow'ret shhwn,
Now smiles again tlhe daisy now
No bl ler blooms alone.


38






NATURE. 39


Nature hatlh slet-a dreary sleep-
A season most forlorn;


But how refreshed she wakes,


behold !


And what a glorious dawn.

O well each heart, with hope inspired,
May hail the promise bright;
And welcome the rejoicing morn
Which follows Winter's night !



SUMMER.


The pleasant Spring


hath passed


away, the sweet


year's early prime,
And Summer-time is coming-the happy Summer-
tiunme ;
The snowdrop's and the cowslip's flower, the meek-
est of their race,


Have shewn their


bashful,


drooping heads,


faded in their place.


The purple violet's rich perfume
the gale,


Alas that


aught


no longer scents


so purely sweet should have a


life so frail:


Though brighter buds unfold their bloom,
not a flowirct nursed


By Sunimier sun, or Sut.nItmer breCrCz,
as the' first.


sO weicl-alle


and


therercs


39






40 POETRY FOR YOUTH.

I do not think the ripening year such joyful sounds
can bring
As the songs the happy birds pour forth in the
fresh glad days of Spring:
I'm sure that none so well can please my fancy or
my car,
And the leaves arc never half so green as whcn
they first appear.

And yet I like the Summer well, its music and its
flowers,
And long to see the swallow come, which heralds
its bright hours.
The gardens look so very gay, and the loveliest
bud which grows
Is she they call the garden's queen, the aromatic
rose.

I wish the Spring, and Summer too, could both
be always here,
I do not like the Winter months, they are so dark
and drear;
I can't believe I e'er should tire of Summer time
or flowers;
hlow very blest they must have been who dwelt in
Eden's bowers.

And yet how soon to sorrow changed their inno-
cence and mirth,
And Has it not tlieir sin which brought a Winter
r'n [lie earth ?







NATU1it. [.


Though through its gloom the sun appears, and
blessed hope is given,
Of a brighter Summer-time than this, an endless
one in Heaven.



AUTUMN.

And now behold for nature's face
Another aspect wears;
And mark ye, how the wondrous change
Each varying feature shares.

Look on the trees, which early Spring
In green her color dressed,
Now pale and yellow-hues of change
By Autumn's power impressed.

Where are the flowers ye lately praised ?
There-where the earth receives
Upon her dry and burning breast
The rose-tre's withered leaves.

The birds have sung their requiems sad
Above the failed flowers;
And silent now they mourning sit
Within their blighted owners .
Yes, bud and blossom lowly lie,
W'e iiss their magic grace,
Though ripening fruits, less frail than they,
Supply lheir vacant pltce.,


41






42 POETRY FOR YOUTH.

Now purple plunl and rosy peach,
And apples hanging high,
And ruddy uectarines tempt the taste,
And please the passing eye.

Behold the fields so lately rich
With nature's golden store ;
The sickle sweeps her pride away,
Her glory is no more.

'But, ye have watched the earth put forth
Her bounties-ye have seen
Her yield her increase: say, has she
In vain your teacher been ?

When through the burden of the day,
Ye saw the reaper toil;
Say, did ye deem his hand was raised
The laughing fields to spoil ?

Think ye, if so indeed it was-
If such his purpose were-
lie would have bound those yellow sheaves
With such laborious care ?

No, from his honest heart full well
The song of joy might come,
Which told his Autumn's work was o'er,
The happy Ilarvest HIome.'

The harvest home oh cheerful sound !
t'lpeat tlih wlcleue wNr l ;







NATURRF. 43

Does it itot speak of gifts bestowed,
Of treasures safely stor'd ?

Let Spring cnjoy her meed of praise,
She bids the Summer come ;
And Summer ripens Autumn's fruits,
And sends the 'harvest home.'



W IN T ER.

Oh Winter, Winter, art thou really here,,
With all thy gloomy, all thy sullen train ?
How do we dread thy visit every year,
And with a hope, how foolish, and how vain,
Long to escape thee!-thou must have thy reign

Thy reign indeed a very tyrant thou !
With what an iron sceptre dost thou sway;
And how before thy power thy subjects bow;
Crouching, and miserable slaves are they,
Yet not for love, but that they must obey!

Yes thou dost hold us all in icy chains,
And hind our very spirits with thy frost;
Spread thy cold mantle o'er our smiling plains,
'Till to our eve the landscape's self is lost;
And bare our branches by thy fury tost.

The pleasant streams where we have often rov'd,
An'l to whose silv'rv current's peaceful wave






44 POETRY FORL YOUTH.

Trusted our vessel toy so dearly lov'd,
No longer now its verdant banks ca:i lave,
But buried seems within a frozen grave.

They say thou last thy virtues, though thou art
So rude and stern, though terrible thy frown ;
Though seeming strong in will, and hard of heart:
God made thee king, and placed that icy crown.
On thy rough brows, and who shall cast it down ?

And, but for thee, perhaps we had not known
I low dear the blessings thou canst not destroy
We had not so been forced to feel and own
The comforts, e'en thy power can scarce allov--
Our home's sweet shelter, and our fireside joy !

Nor is this all thy use : God hath decreed
Nature should share the comnuon fate of all;
And doth not Nature at her burial need-
And with her dying breath e'en seem to call
For what thou giv'st-a shroud,and funeral pall !

Whly should she sleep above her mother earth,
And we below await our final doom ?
Is she not waiting too a glorious birth
Even as we, who, when our 1,ord shall cnie,
Renewed like h r, shall lurst the drearv toni1l






NATIT it 4.


WHAT IS THAT MOTHER ?

DO ANE.

What is that, Mother ?
The lark, my child:-
The morn has but just looked out, and smiled,
When he starts from his humble, grassy nest,
And is up and away, with the dew on his breast,
And a lymnu in his heart, to you pure bright
sphere,
To warble it out in his Maker's ear.
Ever, my child, be thy morn's first lays
Tun'd, like the lark's, to thy Maker's praise.

What is that, Mother ?
The dove, my son :-
And that low, sweet voice, like a widow's moan,
Is flowing out from her gentle breast,
Constant and pure by that lonely nest,
As the wave is poured from some crystal urn,
For her distant dear one's quick return.
Ever, my son, he thou like the dove,
In friendship as faithful, as constant in love.

What is that, Mother ?
The Eagle, boy :-
Proudly careering his course of joy,
I'irin on his own mountain vigour relying,
Breasting the( dark storm, the red bolt defying;


45






POETRY FOR YOUTH.


Hiis wing on the wind, and his eye on the sun,
He swerves not a hair, but hears onward, right on,
Boy, may the eagle's flight ever be thice,
Onward, and upward, true to the line.

What is that, Mother?
The swan my love :-
Ile is floating down from his native grove ;
No lov'd one now, no nestling nigh,
lie is floating down by himself to die;
Death darkens his eye, and unplumes his wings,
Yet the sweetest song is the last he sings.
Live so, my love, that when death shall come,
Swan-like and sweet, it may waft thee home.


4wi






















r! istllrtanotn5.



'TRAIN UP A CHILD IN THE WAY HE SHOULD GO, AND WHEN
TIE IS OLD tI WILL NOT DEPART FROM IT.)
PROVERBS, XX[I. 6.











OBEDIENCE.

The first, best lesson-learn it well,
For none will avail you so-
Obedience, is the root from which
All other virtues grow:
And Disobedience is the seed
From whence all evil things,
Which vex the human heart, proceed,
And all our sorrow springs.

The sin which caused our parents' fall,
From all the perfect bliss
Of innocence, and Eden's bowers,
Was nothing less than this:
God gave to them but one command,
One only law He made,
On pain of death to be observed,
And that they disobey'd.
And ever since, in every heart
This fault hath been the worst;
And even in a little child
Betrays itself the first:
But even children can overcome
Their nature if they will;
For God has shewn them how they may,
And He doth help them still.
D






POETRY FOR CHILDHOOD.


Why should it be so difficult
Your parents' will to do P
You must suppose those know the best
Who have the care of you:
They do not speak to you in words
Hard to be understood ;
Nor can you think that they would teach
What is not right and good.

You cannot say you do not know,
Your duty's clear and plain;
And yet how you neglect it oft,
Again, and yet again;
And take your own forbidden way,
Although that way has led
'To sin and punishment, and brought
Down sorrow on your head.

Wrong may be pleasant at the time,
That does not make it right;
And disobedience is a fault
Most evil in God's sight:
And if you'd have Him do to you,
As night and morn you pray,
Love, watch, and keep you for His own,
You must not disobey.


60






MI SCELLANEOUS.


WHAT LITTLE CHILDREN SHOULD DO.

FROM 'THE WREN.'
Part I.

Three little boys once, who like others had been
Sometimes naughty, and sometimes better,
Were resolved to amend, and consult little wren
In the green-house, where often they met her.

'Little wren,' they began, "you say those who are
good
Are belov'd; tell us what we may do
To be good, for in truth, there is nothing we would
Not do, to be favored by you.'

The wren left the myrtle, in which was her nest,
Her little heart beating with joy ;
She whisk'd round the plants, every feather new
drcst,
And flutter'd round each smiling boy.

' Most welcome, 'she chirp'd,' is your visit to me,
With pleasure I'll give my advice;
For when once little boys are determine d to be
What they should, they grow so in a trice.

' My lessons are few-do whatever you're told
By those under whose care you live:
The young should obey, love and honor the old,
And bless the instructions they give.
D







POETRY FOR CHIILDHOOD.


' To your brothers, and sisters, and play-fellows kind,
What you have with them freely divide,
That when they have something to which you've a
mind,
You, in your turn, may not be deny'd.
'Say your prayers every morning and night to grow
good,
Read your book every day to grow wise,
Go to bed when your heavy eyes tell you you should,
And be cheerful and brisk when you rise.
' These few simple rules are enough at a time;
When these you have perfectly got,
And know what to do, I will find a new rhyme,
That shall then teach you what you should not.



WHAT LITTLE CHILDREN SHOULD
NOT DO.
Part IL.

The three little boys went away to their home,
With hearts fill of goodness and glee:
'Good bye, little wren,' they said, 'soon we will come,
And tell you how good we can be.'

Much oft'ner they did what their nurses dcsir'd,
Said their prayers, read their book every day;
And when they of reading and sitting were tir'd,
With happier hearts went to play.


52







'53
PO4


MISCELLANEOUS.


They would sometimes be naughty, indeed, and forget
'he lessons their favorite taught;
And one, but his name I will not mention yet,
Was often and sadly in fault.

At last, when their prayers they could say, and
their book,
And began to behave more like men,
They had leave to go into the green-house, and look
If again they could find little wren.

They went, and they called : their friend very soon
came,
And as usual she perch'd at their side,
Chirp'd something that each thought resembled his
name,
And their countenance earnestly eyed.

'That all have been better I'm happy to see,
Though one not so good as the rest;
You Harry I doubt-Harry dropt on his knee,
And forgiveness began to request.

'I forgive you,' she said, on condition you never
Again give me cause to complain;
If you do, you will loose my good graces for ever,
Nor ever my favor regain.

You, Jerry and George, it is time I should teach
The things you should carefully shun ;
Much has happened, since last you were with me,
that each
Must wish very much he'd not done.
p3







POETRY FOR CHILDHOOD.


' Never quarrel, nor fret, nor be sulky, nor scold ;
In a passion be sure never fly;
' Never touch what's forbid, or be forward and bold,
Above all, never think of a lie.'

At this George and Jerry began to look red ;
The reason she instantly knew;
Shook three times, in token of pity, her head,
And away to her myrtle-tree flew.



LITTLE WREN'S FORGIVENESS.

Pa rt II.
All night were these little boys restless and sad,
Little wren was alone in their thoughts ;
What would not they give they had never been bad,
How truly repented their faults!

Sad went they to bed, sad to breakfast arose,
And their milk without sugar were eating,
When they heard at the window some odd little blows,
As of somebody tapping and beating.
What was it but wren,-who would tap and then fly,
As if wishing that they would come after:
The milk was soon ate, spoons and basons put by,
And Mama could refrain scarce from laughter.

They ran to the green-house, and each took his stand,
Half glad, half afraid to be there;
Each other they squcez'd very hard by the hand,
Though they thought she'd a good-humor'd air.


54







MISCELLANEOUS.


And they thought very right-the wren smil'd and
began,
My dear little folk, do not fear
I should scold you; I trust each again is a man,
And not one naughty boy see I here.

' Your blushes and simple looks yesterday, showed
You had done what you knew was not right ;
SThe consequence was, what I then did forebode,
You would suffer and sorrow all night.

'For the future, I trust, you will scorn to excuse
'Any fault, by concealing the truth;
'A lie, the affection of all men must lose;
"Tis the naughtiest error of youth.

But I see you are brimful of shame, so no more,
'Wipe away from your eye-lids the tear;
I will promise to love you as much as before,
And meet you, while good you are, here.
Good morning she said,' and hopp'd playful away,
'They remembered full well every word;
And from that time to this, I have heard mama say,
Not a fib, has from either been heard.



A LITTLE GIRL WHO TOLD A
FALSEHOOD.
FROM RHYMES FOR THE NURSERY.
And has my darling told a lie,
Did she forget that God was by;-








POETRY FOR CHILDHOOD.


That God who saw the thing she did,
From whom no action can be hid-
Did she forget that God could see,
And hear, wherever she might be?

lie made your eyes, and can discern
Whichever way you think to turn:
Hle made your ears and he can hear,
When you think nobody is near :
In every place by night or day,
He watches all you do and say.

You thought, because you were alone,
Your falsehood never could be known;
But cunning liars are found out,
Whatever ways they wind about;
And always be afraid, my dear,
To tell a lie-for God is near,

I wish my love you'd always try
To act as not to need a lie;
And when you wish a thing to do,
That has been once forbidden you,
Remember that, nor ever dare
To disobey--for God is there.

Why should you fear to tell me true ?
Confess, and then I'll pardon you:
'fell me you're sorry, and you'll try
To act the better by and ly ;


56







MISCELLANEOUS.


And then, whatc'er your crime has been,
It won't be half so great a sin -
But cheerful innocent aud gay,
As passes by the happy day,
You'll never have to turn aside
From any one, your faults to hide;
Nor heave a sigh, nor have a fear
That either God or I should hear.



TRUTIIH.
O never, never, let your lips
Pronounce a word untrue,
To God's most pure and holy sight
Is known whatever you do :
You may deceive your earthly friends,
Your sin may 'scapo their eye;
But never the All-seeing God
To Him you cannot lie,
Do you not know, who tempts your tongue
To falsehood, and your heart
To every evil thought you think ?
Tis Satan's wicked part:
It pleases him indeed to see
When children go astray;
But do you wish to do his will,
Or take his sinful way ?

I'n sure if you would only think,
You'd always speak the truth ;


57






POETRY FOR CIILDHOOD.


A lie's a thing which never should
Defile the lips of youth:
God watches with such tender care
His little children all;
Because le knows how weak they are,
And would not have them fall.

Hle knows too that His blessed Son
Great love for them hath shewn ;
And that he said that they should comll
To him, and be his own :
But if they falsehood speak, or act,
No promise then is given;
For Jesus would not suffer such
To have a home in Heaven.


MY MOTHER.
FROM C ORIGINAL POETRY.
Who fed me from her gentle breast,
And hush'd me in her arms to rest,
And on my cheek fond kisses prest ?
My Mother!
When sleep forsook my open eye,
Who was it sung sweet hishaby,'
And rock'd me that I should not cry ?
My Motller
Who sat, and watched my little head,
When sleeping on my cradle-bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed ?
-Mv Motlcr!
IF







MISCELLANEOUS.


When pain and sickness made me cry,
Who gazed upon my lifeless eye,
And wept, for fear that I should die ?
My Mother!

Who dressed my doll in clothes so gay,
And taught me nicely how to play ;
And minded all I had to say ?
My Mother!

Who ran to help me when I fell,
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the place to make it well ?
My Mother!

Who taught my infant lips to pray,
And love God's holy book and day;
And walk in wisdom's pleasant way ?
My Mother 1

And can I ever cease to be
Affectionate, and kind to thee,
Who wasn't so very kind to me ?
My Mother!

All no, the thought I cannot bear;
And if God please my life to spare,
I hope I shall reward thy care,
My Mother!

When thou art feeble, old, and grey,
My youthful arm shall be thy stay;
And I will wile thy pains away,
Mlv IMother!


0.5)







POETRY FOR CHILDHOOD.


And when I see tliy sinking head,
'Twill be my turn to watch thy bed,
And tears of true affection shed,
My Mother!

For God, who lives above the skies,
WVould frown with lightning in his eyes,
If I should ever dare despise
Mv Mother



PASSION.

Of all the vexing sights to see,
There is not one so sad
As passion in a little child-
It is so very bad.

The little features, wont to claim
Our love, and to engage
By their sweet innocence and youth-
Deform'id by frightful rage.

Alas indeed, that children' hearts
Such feelings e'er should know;
That little hands should e'er be raised
To deal an angry blow!

That rage, and passion should disturb
The calm of childhood's breast!
Can such be like the little lambs
The Saviour Shepherd blessed ?


;0







MISCEL LA N EOUS 6

Sno not so-the child of sin
Such little one must be ;
And not of Him, of whom 'tis said
Nor sin, nor fault, had He.

O think how He revilings, scorn,
In patient silence heard;
He opened not his holy lips
To speak an angry word.

And when you feel your passion rise-
By his example mov'd,
Remember what he bore for you,
And be your hearts reprov'd.

Subdue the evil thoughts you feel,
For if you let them reign,
They will withhold you from His arms,
And all His love make vain.




CURIOSITY.

Children must often see and hear,
But seldom ought to try
To find out, what is said or done,
Or ask the reason why;

Unless the word or action ,e,
To make them wise and good ;
And then of course they may enquire,
For it was meant, they should.






POETRY FOR CHILDHOOD.


But I have heard a little child;
Who cared not such to know :
Quite troublesome with questions oft,
'Why so and so, was so.'

And yet this I so and so,' if told,
Did not the least concern,
The little curious eves and ears
To see, to hear, or learn.

Children what they are bid, should heed,
And mind their work and play;
But they have nothing else to do,
With what their elders say.

And if they're conscious of this fault,
Each little one will try
Who would be loved, to cure at onco
Their curiosity.



ENVY.

You've read of Abel, little child,
And wicked Cain i1is brother;
You know how very good the one,
How very bad the other.

You know because lie lov'd his God,
That Abel's life was blessed;
That all things prospered in his hand,
And all his store increased.







M ISC ELAN EOUS.


And how, beholding this, the heart
Of Cain with envy filled ;
And how he gave the feeling way,
And righteous Abel kilPd.

I dare say you have often thought
Such deed you could not do;
That Cain, by nature must have been,
A great deal worse than you.

But tell me, have you never felt
An envious feeling rise,
When you have seen to others given
The things that you would prize ?
And have you not, when they have been
Instead of you, approved,
Wished almost that they were not near,
To be so well belov'd.

For if you have, believe me, you
In danger great have been,
And borne within your heart the seed
Of Cain's most dreadful sin.

Why should you wish to be alone
The child of love and care ?
That which you hold so very dear
Why not with others share ?

Doth God himself his gifts bestow
With such a partial hand ?
Doth not his goodness fill the globe,
And reach to every land ?


63






PI6ETRY FO CIIILDHOOD.


Why was his love to Abel given,
And why to Cain refus'd ?
Because the one, the gift deserved,
The other, it abus'd.
If you deserve you will obtain-
But if like Cain you do,
You must not murmur, if reward
Should be withheld from you.
And if to hear another praised
Doth ever give you pain,
Remember, it was that which made
A murderer of Cain.

PEEVI S NE SS.
You should not tease! not e'en in play,-
It is not kind and good;
You would not like it, done to you,
Now, do you think you would ?
Perhaps it pleases you to nip,
And pinch, and slap-but none
If they are nipp'd, and pinch'd, and slapp'd,
I think will call it fun.
You may begin-and never mean
To be at all unkind;
But trifling, such as this will leave,
Full oft a pain behind :
At least it's not a pretty game,
Whatever you intend;
And in a quarrel, or a cry,
Is almost sure to cnd.


64







MISCELLANEOUS.


Suppose, at first, 'tis all in play ;
Sometimes it may be so;
But soon as it annoys it is
No longer play, you know.
Besides, it always seems to me
To be such tyrants' sport;
And never meant for little ones
To love each other, taught.

Whene'er you're peevishly inclined,
'Twould be the wisest way
To ask yourself-when I am teased,
Do I believe it play ?
And then, I think, you would refrain
A peevish act to do;
But do to others, as you would
That they should do to you.



FRETFULNESS.

When silly little boys and girls
For any thing will cry;
Or sometimes even sit and fret,
Nor know the reason why,

Of course we do not pity them,
Or heed their idle tears;
For worse than foolish-very wrong,
Such fretfulness appears.


65






POETRY FOR CHILDHOOD.


Children are happy little things,
With scarce a cross or care ;
Their sorrows are but April showers,
A burden light to bear.

God knows how weak and frail they are,
And He is good and mild;
And seldom lays a heavy hand
Upon a little child.

He gives them all which they can need-
They've nothing to provide-
Their parents' love, their daily food,
And every thing beside.

He only bids them try and learn
Their parents to obey ;
He tells them what they ought to do,
And leads them in the way.

Then is it right to pine and fret,
When He has blessed you so ?
Your simple duties ought you not
Most cheerfully to do.

Weep when you're wrong, because you're
wrong,
And God will pardon thee;
But tears, without a reason shed,
He loveth not to see.


66







MISCELLANEOUS.


I WILL ANI) I WONT.

A little child may say I will,'
It sometimes means to say
SI will be good,' or I will try
To grow so every day':
You must be very careful then,
And mind and keep your word;
But children often say I will,'
By angry passions stirr'd.

It then stands for I I'l have my way,
I do not care for you ;
I'll not be made to do a thing
But what I like to do.'
Now don't you think, as you would find
You could not have your way,
'Twoul be tihe better thing at once
To do as others say ?


A little child may say I won't,
For that may likewise mean
'I wont be naughty any more
As I have often been :'
But whin it is I won't be guod,'
From augry voices heard,
It lias indeed an ugly sound,
And is t nuIgAtvy word.
1:


67






POETRY FOR C'HILDHi)OOD.


The Evil One will make his ways
Seem pleasant in your sight;
lie makes you wilful in the wroirg,
But never in the right:
And knowing this, each little child
Should ask of God, each day,
To lead and keep him in the path
Of his most perfect way.



PROMISE ES.

Be careful how you ever make
A pr nise, and when made,
eie still more careful not to break
T'he word which you have said.

Although you may not mean to say
The thing which is not true,
Yet if you promise, c'en in play,
To do, and do not do,

'Tis much the same as if you told
A falsehood, and will bring
Its punishmciit; and you must hold
Your word a sacred tiling.

You would not like a promised joy,
Or any promise made-
A holiday, a book, or toy,
Forgotten, or delayed.







MI SCELLAN EO(JUS.


I'm sure you'd say it was not kind
And think it was not right;
But, if yourself you do not mind
Your promises to slight--


If others see
Why, they
And though
They will


your words arc vain,
will slight theirs too ;
you often may complain
not care for you.


Remember too, without the way
Quite useless is the will;
And f I will do it' never say,
Unless you can fulfil.


OBEDIENCE.
FROM HYMNS FOR INFANT SCHOOLS.
Oh that it were my chief delight
To do the things I ought!
Then let me try, with all my might,
To mind what I am taught.

Wherever I am told to go,
I'll cheerfully obey;
Nor will I mind it much, although
I leave a pretty play.

\When I am bid, I'll freely bring
Whatever I have got;
Nor will I touch a pretty thing,
If mother tells me not.
1: 3


69






POETRY FOR CHILDHOOD.


When she permits me, I may tell
About my pretty toys:
But if she's busy, or unwell,
I must not make a noise.

For God looks down from Ii aven on high,
Our actions to behold ;
And He is pleased when children try
To do as they are told.



PERSEVERANCE.

When you begin to do a thing,
To work, to read, to play,
And never leave it, 'till complete,
You persevere we say.
Suppose it is a tiresome task
You have been told to do;
Although you may not like it much,
You ought to learn it through.

Suppose it is a serious book
Your serious thoughts that need;
And if not so amusing quite
As you may wish to read-
Although it may not please your taste,
It it will do you good,
You ought to try and read it still,
'Tis proper that you should.


70






MItSCELLANKUUS.


Unless it silly be, or wrong,
'Tis much the better plan
To finish what you are about,
When you have once began:
It is a very foolish way
So oft to change your mind ;
And sometimes what you do not like
You'll very useful find.

If whilst a child you always please
Your humour, or your will,
You will when you are older grown
Wish to indulge them still:
And what you like is not the best,
Perhaps it is the worst
Which you can do-and so the will
Should be restrain'd at first.

No action good, or great, that e'er
By man has been begun,
And carried through, but it has been
By perseverance done :
And if you would be good or great,
You must remember, dear,
To finish what you undertake,
And always persecere.


7t






POETRY FOR CHILDHOOD.


PITY.

'Tis good for others woes to feel;
The tear to pity given
Is precious to the wounded soul,
As gentle dew from heaven :
It speaks a kind and loving heart,
A nature soft and mild;
And such as this we like to see
In every little child.

Tis true you may not understand
The woe which you behold;
And sorrow is not half so much
By. words, as actions, told.
A look, a tone, a tear, a sigh,
Betray the grief we feel;
A faltering step, a drooping head,
The mourner all reveal.

And are not these enough to work
Soft pity in your heart ?
Much comfort is not in your pow'r,
But do your little part:
Avoid whatever may annoy,
And ask not why they grieve;
But seek by loving ways and works
Their sorrow to relieve,


72







S MISCELLANEO S. 73

And if beyond your childish love
To comfort or console,
Whatever might disturb the more,
Or word, or deed, control.
For sorrow is a sacred thing
In God's great mercy given,
To raise our earthly thoughts to Him,
And lift our hearts to Heaven.


FORGIVENESS.
Forgive, as ye would be forgiven--
Oh let not anger rest
Against a brother for his fault,
Within your childish breast

How can you say your Saviour's prayer,
And let such feelings live ?
'Forgive our trespasses, oh Lord !
As others we forgive.'

No matter what the wrong may be,
However dark the deed;
We must be merciful, for we
Of mercy stand in need.

Besides, the greater the offence,
The greater mercy shewn;
And we, in God's most holy sight,
The better deed have done.







POETRY FOR CHILDHOOD.


Remember, too, how He forgave,
And for his murderers prayed
Who for our sins was offered up,
And full atonement made.

The worst our foes could do to us
Were not so bad as this;
The heaviest pain they could inflict
Were light, compared to His.

And bear in mind, how every day
In thought, and deed, and word,
You kneel, and ask with suppliant voice
'Forgive my sins, oh Lord !'

And know such prayer can never claim
Your Father's ear in Heaven
Only as others ye forgive
Your sins shall be forgiven.


THANKFULNE SS.
TRENCH.
Some mumumur when the sky is clear
And wholly bright to view,
If one small speck of dark appear
In their great heaven of blue.
And some with thankful love are fill'd
If but one streak of light,
One ray of God's good mercy, gild
The darkness of their night.


74








MISCELLANEOUS.


In palaces are hearts that ask,
In discontent and pride,
Why life is such a dreary task,
And all good things denied.
And hearts in poorest huts admire
How love has in their aid,
(Love that not ever seems to tire)
Such rich provision made.

PRAISE.
How sweetly sounds the voice of praise,
In loving accents spoken ;
The tones how pleasant to our ears,
And to our hearts the token !
How do we try, aye more and more,
To do e'cn better than before.

Yet not to all it doth impart
Such pleasure, or desire;
Praise does not every soul alike
With emulation fire:
Alas! too oft it happens we
By praise are moved to vanity.
Yet how is this ? there's not a deed
Performed in Virtue's name ;
Or e'en a thought, deserving praise,
We for our own can claim :
There's not a little child, but knows
God is the fount whence goodness flows.


75







POETRY FOR CHILDHOOD.


Aud praise is given that you may love
To do the thing that's right;
And as you older grow each day,
Still further to excite
Your youthful hearts to noble deed,
And make you worthy of the meed.

He careful always to deserve
The praise you may obtain;
Unless you do, it cannot fail
A candid mind to pain :
Whene'er it is not justly due,
You must acknowledge it untrue.

And never let it lift your heart
With vanity or pride;
For if you do, however deserved,
'Twere better far denied
'Twill work you greater mischief still
Than lack of all such praises will.

Not for the punishment it brings
Should evil be abhorr'd;
Neither should virtuous acts be done
Because they win reward:
As soon as praise becomes your aim
You forfeit what you wish to claim.


76







MISCELLANEOUS.


TIE GOLDEN RULE.

FROM CHILD'S BOOK OF POETRY.

To do to others as I would
That they should do to me,
Will make me honest, kind, and good,
As children ought to be.

Whether I am at home, at school,
Or walking out abroad,
I never should forget this rule
Of Jesus Christ our Lord.


PICTURES.
What pretty things these pictures are!
And how I love to look
Upon each gay and painted page
Within my little book.

I learn my lesson twice as soon,
And can remember too
My letters, twice as well and long,
When they are red and blue.

And here are houses, horses, dogs,
And little girls and boys ;
My pretty picture book I like
The best of all my toys.


77







POETRY FOR CHILDHOOD.


And oh! how beautiful and grand
In those gold frames they look;
I've often fancied them alive,
And almost thought they spoke.

Stay little child, and turn your eye
One moment from the page,
And let the pictures out of doors
Your better mind engage.

Look at the blue and shining sky,
So far above your head;
Look where the bright and glorious sun
His golden light has shed;

Look at the various hues and tints
Each tree and flow'ret wear-
Hast thou e'er seen, in book or frame,
A picture half so fair ?

These are God's pictures, these the works
Of His Almighty hand;
What is the skill which imitates,
Compared with His who planned?


BEAUTY.

Who talks of Beauty ? Can a little child
Know aught of aught so vain ? Can a young heart,
Simple and ignorant of worldly lore,


78







MISCELLANEOUS.


Have learned the value which in worlllv minds
Hath this deceitful light ? Are those bright eyes
Already sparkling in the hope to win
Praise of their brightness ? Oh, if so indeed,
Lend me those infant ears, the while I tell
What that is worth, which you do hold so dear.

Say that your eye is bright, bright as the star
Which shineth in the azure vault of heaven;
That your young brow is spotless as the snow
Which e'en from heaven descends; that the fresh
bloom
On that fair cheek might shame the damask rose;
Those little lips the cherry; that thy face
Is made of smiles and dimples; be it so-
One little day, nay e'cn one little hour,
May rob thee of them all.

But if time
Should spare them yet awhile, nay, if his hand
Should bring them to perfection greater still,
Think ye, that they were given to fill thy heart
With empty vanity and pride ? Oh no!
God never made thee pleasing to the sight,
With such intent.

Dost talk of beauty still ?
We tell thee, then, that thou hast that in thee
Which would deform a much more perfect face:
This vanity, for ever puffing up thy heart,
Hath left no place for virtues, which can give


79






so


POETRY 'FOl CHILDHOOD.


''The homeliest features higher beauty still,
Than symmetry of form hath ere bestowed.
God doth not love the work of his own hand,
Not for its outward show, but inner worth:
Man may esteem such things, for man is vain;
But He who hath made man looks at the heart;
'Tis there he seeks perfection; and unless
That which he seeks he finds, although the form
Be of the fairest, He hath ever made,
Tis but mere dust and ashes in His sight!
Only the good, He deemeth beautiful.

PLEASURE.
Life has its pleasures
In childhood or age !
Too surely do they
Our affections engage;
Yet how fleeting they are;
They rejoice us to-day,
And to-morrow, behold,
They are passing away.
Life has its pleasures!
How rosy its dawn,
How cloudless the sun
In its first early monl!
But beware of its brightness;
The noon is not yet,
And the storm may descend,
Ere that bright sun hath set.







MISCELLANEOUS. 81

Life has its pleasures!
How sweet is the smile
Which beams on our youth,
Free from falsehood or guile
But pleasure may vanish,
And sorrow appear;
For too often a smile
Yields its place to a tear.

Life has its pleasures,
Its buds and its flowers !
But the bud is oft nipp'd
In this cold world of ours;
And the loveliest bloom
Of a soft Summer day
Is a perishing thing,
And soon withers away.

Life hath its pleasures !
But hold not too dear
Its joys and its treasures,
Your home is not here;
They may vanish or die,
They may fade from your sight,
For the brightest of days
Is succeeded by night.

But there is a home,
Far beyond in the skies,
Where sunshine is endless,
And liope never dies;







POETRY FOR CHILDHOOD.


To the joys of that home
Let your young hearts be given,
Lay ye up for yourselves
Lasting treasures in Heaven.



FAIRIES.

I often in my little books,
Strange tales of Fairies see,
Who dance at moonlight merrily,
Beneath some ancient tree:
They say good little children too,
Have sometimes fairies met,
But though I hope I have been good,
I never saw one yet.

I've often seen the moon shine
In the warm long summer night,
But I never saw a fairy,
And I can't believe it quite:
I'm told they're very small though,
Perhaps too small to see,
And yet I scarcely think they're less
Than butterfly, or bee.

I will ask mamma to tell me,
About them all, one day,
Because I know I can believe
Whatever she may say:








MISCELLA NEOUS.


I do not think she'd let me read
A falsehood, if she knew;
And so, perhaps these curious tales
May after all be true.

I rather like to think they are;
It must be very nice,
Only to wish whatever you like,
And have it in a trice:
And yet I'm happier after all,
Than many children are;
And never want for anything,
I've such a kind mamma.

I do not need the fairies, whilst
I've her to care for me,
But still, I should, I must confess,
Like very much to see,
These tiny things, all dancing
By moonlight on the lawn;
I wonder where they hide themselves,
When day begins to dawn ?

They say their dress is beautiful,
Like gauze and very gay;
They've shining crowns, and silver wands,
And very grand are they.
They drive in splendid chariots,
And travel through the air,
And only on the good, and poor,
Do they bestow their care:
r2 -


$3







POETRY FOR CHILDHOOD.


There's many a one needs help, I'm sure,
And much that they may do,
They must be little darlings,
I hope it may be true.



FEAR.

The glorious sun had set,
And the shades of coming night
Had chas'd away the last faint streak,
Of day's departing light;
A little child, had watched its close,
And in the darkening gloom,
It sate and held its breath for fear,
Of the impending gloom.

'Twas Summer's sultry noon,
Black clouds obscur'd the sky,
And Nature's every sign foretold,
A thunder-storm was nigh;
It came,-the lightning's flash,
And the heavy rolling sound,
Of the tempest's awful voice,
Which seem'd to shake the ground :
Again, behold a little child,
With faint and timid heart,
Doth shrink from every fitful gleam,
At every crash doth start.


84







MISCELLANEOUS.


Nor these the only fears,
Which dwell in childhood's breast;
By many a lesser dread,
I've known it oft possessed;
Some, from a dog, or mouse,
Or e'en a spider, flee,
When these have much the greater cause
Of them afraid to be.


There's scarce a danger which a child,
Hath need to meet or know,
By loving eyes such watch is kept,
In Heaven, or earth below:
Of darkness, or the tempest's rage,
Most foolish is the fear,
Dost thou not know, by night or day,
That God is with thee dear ?
And that the Power which rules the storm
Will keep his children free from harm ?


'Tis only those who evil do,
Who from God's paths have stray'd,
And wandered in forbidden ways,
Who ought to be afraid;
Unto the good, one only fear
Can properly belong,
I mean that wise and wholesome one,
Tlih fear of dcliig wrong.
F13




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