The Infant's Delight

The Mistletoe-sellers.

The Dead Robin.

Blind Man's Buff

BLIND MAN'S BUFF.

When the win-ter winds are blow-ing,
  And we ga-ther glad and gay,
Where the fire its light is throw-ing,
  For a mer-ry game at play,
There is none that to my know-ing,—
  And I've play-ed at games enough,—
Makes us laugh, and sets us glow-ing
  Like a game at Blind-man's Buff.

THE DEAD ROBIN.

All through the win-ter, long and cold,
  Dear Minnie ev-ery morn-ing fed
The little spar-rows, pert and bold,
  And ro-bins, with their breasts so red.

She lov-ed to see the lit-tle birds
  Come flut-ter-ing to the win-dow pane,
In answer to the gen-tle words
  With which she scat-ter-ed crumbs and grain.

One ro-bin, bol-der than the rest,
  Would perch up-on her fin-ger fair,
And this of all she lov-ed the best,
  And daily fed with ten-der-est care.

But one sad morn, when Minnie came,
  Her pre-ci-ous lit-tle pet she found,
Not hop-ping, when she call-ed his name,
  But ly-ing dead up-on the ground.

ALL THINGS OBEY GOD.

"He saith to the snow, Be thou on the earth."

God's works are very great, but still
  His hands do not ap-pear:
Though hea-ven and earth o-bey His will,
  His voice we can-not hear.

And yet we know that it is He
  Who moves and governs all,
Who stills the rag-ing of the sea,
  And makes the showers to fall.

Alike in mer-cy He be-stows
  The sun-shine and the rain;
That which is best for us He knows,
  And we must not com-plain,

Whe-ther He makes His winds to blow,
  And gives His tem-pests birth,
Or sends His frost, or bids the snow—
  "Be thou up-on the earth."

He Saith to the Snow: Be Thou on The Earth. Job 37.6

Snow-ball-ing.

SNOW-BALL-ING.

See these mer-ry ones at play,
On this snowy New Year's Day:
How they run, and jump, and throw
Hand-fuls of the soft, white snow.
You should hear them laugh and shout
As they fling the snow about!
'Tis by Frank and Gus alone
That the balls are chief-ly thrown,
While their cou-sins make and bring
Other balls for them to fling.
Ka-tie is pre-par-ing thus,
Quite a store of balls for Gus;
But her mer-ry sis-ter May
From her task has run a-way,
All that heavy lump of snow,
At her cou-sin Gus to throw.
E-dith is not very bold,
And at first she fear-ed the cold;
Now at last you see her run
Down the steps to join the fun.

THE SICK DOLL.

Oh! is there any cause to fear
  That dol-ly will be very ill?
To cure my lit-tle dar-ling here,
  Pray, doc-tor, use your ut-most skill.

And dol-ly, if you would get well,
  Hold out your arm, that Dr. Gray
May feel your tiny pulse, and tell
  What best will take the pain a-way.

And do not say: "I will not touch
  That nas-ty phy-sic, nor the pill."
If lit-tle dolls will eat too much,
  They must not won-der if they're ill.

If your mam-ma ate too much cake,
  She would be very poor-ly too,
And nas-ty phy-sic have to take;
  And, lit-tle dol-ly, so must you.

Those Who the South-ern O-cean Cross, Meet With the Wide-wing-ed Al-ba-tross.

The Sick Doll.

Little Rose's Valentine.

NEL-LY'S PET LAMB.

This lit-tle Lamb was brought to Nell
  The day its old ewe mo-ther died,
And, now it knows and loves her well,
  It will not go from Nel-ly's side.
A-long the hall, and up the stair,
  You hear its lit-tle pat-ter-ing toes:
Her Pet will fol-low every-where
  A-bout the house, where Nel-ly goes.

ROSE'S VA-LEN-TINE.

ROSE.

The post-man has been, dear mam-ma,
  And has brought me a let-ter so fine;
And Su-san has one, but it is not, by far,
  So pret-ty a let-ter as mine.
And, pray, will you read it to me,
  Mam-ma, if I give you a kiss?
I wish very much to know who it can be
  That has sent me a let-ter like this.

MAM-MA.

To the lot of our dear lit-tle Rose
  We trust every bless-ing may fall;
And this is the prayer and the fond hope of those
  Who love her most dear-ly of all.

So now, lit-tle Rose, can you guess
  Who sent you this let-ter by post?

ROSE.

Oh, yes, dear mam-ma, I can tell you; oh, yes!
For you, and pa-pa, love me most.

"YOUR HEA-VEN-LY FA-THER FEED-ETH THEM."

God loves His lit-tle birds; for all
  His ten-der care He shows;
A sin-gle spar-row can-not fall
  But its Cre-a-tor knows.

They do not sow, nor reap the corn,
  Gar-ner nor barn have they;
God gives them break-fast every morn,
  And feeds them through the day.

And this we know; for in His Word,
  Where all His ways we read,
We find that eve-ry lit-tle bird
  He cares for, and will feed.

God loves each lit-tle bird; but still
  More ten-der is His care
For chil-dren who o-bey His will,
  Than for the fowls of air.

Your Heavenly Father Feedeth Them. Matt. Vi. 26.

Plough-ing.

PLOUGH-ING.

The lit-tle birds by God are fed
But man must earn his dai-ly bread,
  And work that he may eat;
Striv-ing his best, as John does now,
The broad ten-acre field to plough,
  Where-in to sow the wheat.

Old John, the plough-man, ne'er re-pines,
Whe-ther it blows, or rains, or shines,
  But hap-py still does seem;
And Dick, who leads the fore-most horse,
Goes whist-ling as he walks across
  The field be-side the team.

Let us per-form as glad-ly, too,
The work our Mas-ter bids us do,
  And then we need not fear;
But when from earth-ly toil we rest,
We all shall meet a-mong the blest
  Who served Him tru-ly here.

"HOW IS THE WEA-THER?"

  Cold win-ter has come,
  And the cru-el winds blow—
The trees are all leaf-less and brown;
  These two pret-ty rob-ins,
  Oh, where shall they go
To shel-ter their lit-tle brown heads from the snow?
  Just look at the flakes com-ing down.

But see, they have found a snug shel-ter at last,
And hark, how they talk, while the storm whis-tles past:

  Says Pol-ly to Dick-y,
  "You're near-est the door,
And you are the gen-tle-man, too:
  Just peep out and see
  When the storm will be o'er;
Be-cause, if the wea-ther's as bad as be-fore,
I think we will stay, do not you?"

Far up A-mong the Moun-tain Peaks, His Food the Lone-ly Con-dor Seeks.

'How is the Weather?'

Nelly's New Parasol.

NAUGH-TY NEL-LY AND HER NEW PA-RA-SOL.

"No, Nel-ly! not to-day, my child!
  I can-not let you take it;
This cold March wind, so strong and wild,
  Your pa-ra-sol, 'twould break it!"

So said Mam-ma; but Nel-ly thought,
  "I will take my new pre-sent:
Tis mine; to please me it was bought;
  The wea-ther's bright and plea-sant."
So naugh-ty Nel-ly sli-ly took
  What kind Mam-ma had bought her,
And out she went—and, only look!
  The wild March wind has caught her!

The silk tore up, the ribs broke out,
  In spite of Nel-ly's sway-ing;
And peo-ple laugh-ed at her, no doubt—
  That comes of dis-o-bey-ing.

"THE FLOW-ERS AP-PEAR ON THE EARTH."

(SONG OF SOLOMON, ii. 12.)

Now the win-ter cold is past,
  And blithe March winds are blow-ing,
In shel-ter-ed nooks we find at last
  Bright flow-ers of spring are grow-ing.

Along the hedge-row's mossy bank,
  Where ivy green is creep-ing,
We see through weeds and net-tles rank
  The dark-blue vi-o-let peep-ing.

And in the sun-ny gar-den beds
  Gay a-co-nites are show-ing,
And snow-drops bend their grace-ful heads,
  And cro-cus-es are glow-ing.

God makes the buds and leaves un-fold,
  All flow-ers are of His giv-ing;
He guards them through the win-ter's cold,
  He cares for all things liv-ing.

Who Tore It?

The E-mu in Aus-tra-lia's Found, Where the Wild Bush Spreads Far A-round.

The Little Hero.

Blowing Bubbles.

JUMP! PUS-SY!

Pus-sy, jump! for all the day
You have time e-nough to play;
Though at night, in barn and house,
You must watch for rat or mouse.

Pus-sy, jump! and if you do,
We will pour some milk for you;
Pus-sy, you shall be ca-ressed,
If you try and jump your best.

BLOW-ING BUB-BLES.

  Har-ry and Tom, the o-ther day,
  Went out in-to the yard to play;
Their great de-light, in wea-ther bright,
  Is blow-ing bub-bles with pipes of clay.

  Tom took a ba-sin deep and wide,
  And Har-ry brought his mug be-side;
They fil-led them quite with soap-suds white,
  And each to blow the big-gest tried.

  Poor Tom, he blew with might and main,
  And so, of course, he blew in vain;
For all his trou-ble he made no bub-ble,
  But Tom was brave and tried a-gain.

  Till Har-ry said, "Dear Tom, you see,
  You blow too hard; now—look at me.
There! that will rise to-ward the skies,
  And float a-bove the li-lac tree."

A-PRIL SHOW-ERS.

"Thou makest the earth soft with show-ers: Thou bless-est the spring-ing there-of."—PSALM lxv. 10.

When A-pril skies be-gin to frown,
And the cold rain comes pelt-ing down,
We must not grum-ble nor com-plain,
Nor i-dly say, we hate the rain.

God sends the rain; the dust-y ground
It soft-ens in the fields a-round;
The mois-ture ev-e-ry plant re-ceives,
And springs a-fresh in flow-ers and leaves.

Should God for-bid the show-ers to fall,
Nor send us any rain at all,
The ground would all grow hard and dry,
And ev-e-ry liv-ing plant would die.

All things would starve and per-ish then—
No food for birds, nor beasts, nor men;
Then do not mur-mur, nor com-plain,
God, in His good-ness, sends the rain.

'snap, Be Good!'

"SNAP, BE GOOD!"

"Dear lit-tle Snap, you fun-ny pup,
  I love to see you beg,
So cle-ver-ly do you sit up
  And bend each slen-der leg,
    Drop-ping the paw;
And raise your ears a-bove your head,
  Look-ing so very wise;
You seem to know I have some bread;
  And then, such bright green eyes
    I never saw.

"Your shag-gy coat is long and rough,
  Your tail is rough-er still;
Now, Snap, I think you've had e-nough,
  And more would make you ill—
    In-deed it would.
But sis-ter Lot-ty has some cake,
  And so if you will sit
Quite still and good, till I say 'Take!'
  Then you shall have a bit;
    So, Snap, be good!"

THE STRAY KIT-TEN.

"Come, Kit-ty, come; you need not fear,
  Nor make that plain-tive mew;
Don't be a-fraid, but ven-ture near,
And lap the milk we bring you here,
  For none will in-jure you.

"And, Kit-ty, since you've lost your way,
  You need no fur-ther roam;
But stop, and dine with us to-day,
And then, if you would wish to stay,
  Poor Kit-ty, here's your home.

"And we will feed you fine and fat,
  On fresh new milk and nice;
And, when you grow to be a cat,
You can re-quite us well for that,
  By catch-ing all the mice."

Where the Wide Wastes of O-cean Lie, The Greed-y Gan-net Loves to Fly.

The Stray Kitten.

The First of May.

THE MAY-POLE.

  Round the May-pole, on the grass,
  Mer-ry lit-tle foot-steps pass;
  In the mid-dle Bes-sie stands,
  With the May-pole in her hands;
  While her play-mates dance and sing
  Round her in an end-less ring.
  Soon, in-deed, a feast they'll make,
  Cow-slip tea, with nice plum-cake—
And so our leave of them we'll take.

THE FIRST OF MAY.

The haw-thorn blos-som, snow-y white,
  Hangs thick upon the hedge to-day;
With many flow-ers the fields are bright
  Upon this mer-ry First of May.

So let us ga-ther flow-er-ets fair,
  And blos-soms from the haw-thorn spray,
To deck our May-pole stand-ing there,
  Upon this mer-ry First of May.

And then, like fai-ries, in a ring,
  A-round it we will dance or play,
And all our glad-dest songs will sing
  Upon this mer-ry First of May.

And dear-est Maud shall there be seen
  With crown of haw-thorn blos-soms gay,
And she shall be our lit-tle queen,
  Upon this mer-ry First of May.

UNI-VER-SAL PRAISE.

See how na-ture now re-joices
  In this sun-ny month of May;
Still to God from all its voices
  Giv-ing prais-es day by day.
In the glad green wood-land al-leys
  Ev-e-ry bird its an-them trills!
While flocks feed-ing in the val-leys,
  Herds up-on a thou-sand hills,
Join with ev-ery crea-ture liv-ing,
  Here on land, in air, or sea,
In one great world-wide thanks-giv-ing,
  Yield-ing praise, O God, to Thee!
All a-round us swells the cho-rus
  From this good-ly world of ours,
And earth's al-tar stands be-fore us
  Sweet with in-cense from her flow-ers.
So, with Na-ture still con-fess-ing
  His great good-ness, let us pay
Grate-ful hom-age for each bless-ing
  Of this sun-ny month of May.

Lost Labour.

The Sa-cred I-bis, We Are Told, The E-gyp-tians Much Re-vered of Old

Washing My Children.

Taking Care of Baby

THE DAN-DE-LION CLOCK.

The dan-de-lion blos-soms gay
From the fields have passed away,
And in their place left heads of grey.
Now, Min-nie, won't it be good fun
For each of us to ga-ther one,
And sit and blow them in the sun?
Very hard we both must blow,
And scat-ter all the seeds like snow,
That will be 'one o'clock,' you know."

TAK-ING CARE OF BA-BY.

Lit-tle, help-less ba-by dear,
  While with-in your cot you lie,
Sis-ter May is sit-ting near—
  She will sing your lul-la-by.

When at last you fall a-sleep,
  Not the slight-est noise she'll make;
Quiet as a mouse she'll keep,
  Lest she should her dar-ling wake.

May will watch you well, for though
  She can play and prat-tle too,
'Tis not very long ago
  Since she was a babe like you.

Then mam-ma o'er lit-tle May
  Day and night her watch would keep;
May her care can now re-pay,
  Watch-ing ba-by whilst a-sleep.

SUM-MER FLOW-ERS.

"The de-sert shall re-joice, and blos-som as the rose."—ISAIAH XXXV. I.

Be-hold the flow-ers of June! how fair
  And bright their buds ap-pear,
As, open-ing to the sum-mer air,
  Our eyes and hearts they cheer!

Who would have thought there could a-bound
  Such beau-ty and de-light
Be-neath the cold and win-try ground
  That hid those flow-ers from sight?

That pow-er which made and governs all—
  The might-y pow-er of God—
A-lone could life and beau-ty call
  Out of the life-less sod.

And He, who from the Win-ter's gloom
  Can Sum-mer thus dis-close,
Shall one day make the de-sert bloom,
  And blos-som as the rose.

'where's Dick-ey?'

"WHERE'S DICK-EY?"

"Look there!" lit-tle Lot-ty cried,
"Dick-ey's cage is o-pen wide,
And, I fear, he's not in-side. Cou-sin John,
Do please stand up-on this chair,
Just to see if he is there.
Pret-ty Dick, I won-der where
    You are gone!

"Naugh-ty puss, your jaws, you lick!
Have you eat-en lit-tle Dick?
That would be a cru-el trick! No, I see
Pret-ty Dick has flown a-way,
And is sing-ing blithe and gay,
Sit-ting yon-der on a spray
    Of the tree.

"Well, I too should think it wrong,
If a gi-ant, tall and strong,
Just to hear my lit-tle song ev-ery day,
Shut me in a cage; and yet
Thus I did my lit-tle pet—
So he must be glad to get
    Safe a-way."

PLAY-ING AT OM-NI-BUS.

Says Hu-bert, "Look, how fast it pours!
I'm sure we can't go out of doors
  While it is rain-ing thus;
So let us in the nur-se-ry stay,
To have a mer-ry game, and play
  At driv-ing om-ni-bus.

"Flo-ra and Ted-dy, you must be
The horses, and be driv-en by me.
  Mind you go stea-dy—do!
A place for Char-lie we shall find;
To guard the 'bus he'll ride be-hind,
  And take the mon-ey too.

"Dick, with pa-pa's old hat to wear,
Looks just the thing to be a fare
  Who wants to ride with us.
Jump up, sir! Six-pence all the way!
Gee, gee, you horses! Gee, I say!"—
  Off goes the om-ni-bus!

With Wings Scarce Mov-ing, Through the Sky, The Lazy Kite is Seen to Fly.}

Playing at Omnibus.

On the Water.

GA-THER-ING POP-PIES.

Through the corn the chil-dren creep,
Where the nod-ding pop-pies sleep,
Fill-ing hands and a-prons white
With the scar-let blos-soms bright.
Gau-dy pop-pies must not stay
Till the fu-ture har-vest day:
They would wi-ther when the heat
Ri-pens all the gold-en wheat—
Life for them is short and sweet.

ON THE WA-TER.

In our lit-tle boat to glide
On the wa-ter blue and wide,
While the sky is smooth and bright,
What could give us more de-light?
See the rip-ples, how they run,
Twink-ling bright-ly in the sun;
While re-flect-ed we can see
Sha-dows of each hill and tree.
See the li-lies, round and large,
Float-ing near the reed-y marge,
Where the bul-rush has its place
And the hea-vy wa-ter-mace.
See the great green dra-gon-fly,
And the swal-low skim-ming by.
See the fish-es spring and gleam,
Ere they splash in-to the stream,
See the bright king-fish-er too
Dart a gleam of green and blue.
These are all a-round our boat
On the wa-ter whilst we float.

HURT-FUL WEEDS.

'Ev-e-ry plant, which My hea-ven-ly Fa-ther hath not plant-ed, shall be root-ed up."—ST. MATT. XV. 13.

Though in the corn that waves a-round
  Are thorns, and many hurt-ful weeds,
That spring in e-ven good-ly ground
  And plant-ed thick with choic-est seeds;

Though in our hearts, how-e-ver taught
  And trained to guard them-selves from sin,
The good is mixed with evil thought
  Our en-e-my has sown there-in,

God's plant-ing shall not be o'er-thrown
  By world-ly weeds that cling a-bout
His corn; and what He hath not sown
  Shall in His time be root-ed out.

Then, that our lives may yield their fruit,
  Still let it be our con-stant prayer,
That God from out our hearts will root
  All seeds He hath not plant-ed there.

The But-ter-fly.

THE BUT-TER-FLY.

A yel-low But-ter-fly one day,
  Grown tired of play and tired of fly-ing,
Up-on a this-tle blos-som grey
  With out-spread wings was i-dly ly-ing.

The stur-dy bees went hum-ming by,
  Draw-ing sweet ho-ney from the clo-ver,
Nor stir-red the yel-low But-ter-fly,
  For he was but an i-dle ro-ver.

Two lit-tle girls, named Anne and May,
  Came by with mirth and laugh-ter ring-ing,
Anne ran to seize the in-sect gay—
  May fol-low-ed fast and ceased her sing-ing.

"Oh! dar-ling An-nie, let it be,
  Your touch will rob its plumes of beau-ty;
And God, who made both you and me,
  Has taught us kind-ness is a du-ty."

"GO A-WAY, RO-VER!"

"You big black dog, go, go a-way!
  I will not let you bite
My lit-tle pet; it can-not play,
  You gave it such a fright!
"I think you want to eat it up
  Be-cause it is so small,
But if you dare to touch my pup
  For help I mean to call;

"And then pa-pa will bring a stick,
  And make you run a-way;
So, Ro-ver, you had best go quick,
  And leave us here to play!"

Why, Ro-ver, is quite good and tame—
  You need not be a-fraid;
He on-ly wants to have a game,
  You sil-ly lit-tle maid!

In Sum-mer Time, A-long Our Coasts. The Mack-a-rel Swarm in Count-less Hosts.

'go Away, Rover!'

Lucy and Arthur.

THE RUSH PA-RA-SOL.

"Oh, come to the brook, sis-ter Kate,
  Oh, come with me, Het-ty and Gus,
Where rush-es, so long and so straight,
  Are grow-ing in thou-sands for us!"

Thus cries, to the rest, lit-tle May;
  And off to the mea-dow go all—
For nurse has just shown her the way
  Of mak-ing a rush pa-ra-sol.

LU-CY AND AR-THUR.

The day was fine, the sun was hot,
  So Lu-cy took her pail and spade,
And went to find a nice dry spot
  Where wells and cas-tles might be made.

But all the shore just then was wet,
  So Lu-cy took off shoes and socks;
She knew that nurse would fume and fret
  If they got spoilt by sand or rocks.

But Ar-thur was so strong and big,
  He thought that he was quite a man,
And he, in boots, would stand and dig,
  Which proved a very fool-ish plan.

For soon his boots got wet and cold,
  And hurt his feet, and made him cry;
He had to sit and hear nurse scold,
  While both his boots were put to dry.

THE PRO-VI-DENCE OF GOD.

"The Lord shall give that which is good, and our land shall yield her increase."—PSALM lxxxv. 12.

The seed was sown long months a-go,
And, through the win-ter's cold and snow,
We trust-ed that God's care would bring
The green and ten-der blade in spring,
Which che-rished by the sun and rain
Of sum-mer, now has yield-ed grain
In au-tumn, when the reap-er leaves
His cot to cut and bind the sheaves,
And load with them the nod-ding wain
Which bears them home-ward from the plain.

So God's great mer-cies thus a-bound;
His love still brings the sea-sons round;
His bless-ings fill our hap-py fields,
And all our land its in-crease yields:
So if we serve Him as we should,
Our Lord will give us all things good;
And He who doth the ra-vens feed
Much more will give us all we need!

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Infant's Delight: Poetry