A was an Ant
A was an ant
Who seldom stood still,
And who made a nice house
In the side of a hill.
a
Nice little ant!
B was a book
With a binding of blue,
And pictures and stories
For me and for you.
b
Nice little book!
C was a cat
Who ran after a rat;
But his courage did fail
When she seized on his tail.
c
Crafty old cat!
D was a duck
With spots on his back,
Who lived in the water,
And always said "Quack!"
d
Dear little duck!
E was an elephant,
Stately and wise:
He had tusks and a trunk,
And two queer little eyes.
e
Oh, what funny small eyes!
F was a fish
Who was caught in a net;
But he got out again,
And is quite alive yet.
f
Lively young fish!
G was a goat
Who was spotted with brown:
When he did not lie still
He walked up and down.
g
Good little goat!
H was a hat
Which was all on one side;
Its crown was too high,
And its brim was too wide.
h
Oh, what a hat!
I was some ice
So white and so nice,
But which nobody tasted;
And so it was wasted.
i
All that good ice!
J was a jackdaw
Who hopped up and down
In the principal street
Of a neighboring town.
j
All through the town!
K was a kite
Which flew out of sight,
Above houses so high,
Quite into the sky.
k
Fly away, kite!
L was a light
Which burned all the night,
And lighted the gloom
Of a very dark room.
l
Useful nice light!
M was a mill
Which stood on a hill,
And turned round and round
With a loud hummy sound.
m
Useful old mill!
N was a net
Which was thrown in the sea
To catch fish for dinner
For you and for me.
n
Nice little net!
O was an orange
So yellow and round:
When it fell off the tree,
It fell down to the ground.
o
Down to the ground!
P was a pig,
Who was not very big;
But his tail was too curly,
And that made him surly.
p
Cross little pig!
Q was a quail
With a very short tail;
And he fed upon corn
In the evening and morn.
q
Quaint little quail!
R was a rabbit,
Who had a bad habit
Of eating the flowers
In gardens and bowers.
r
Naughty fat rabbit!
S was the sugar-tongs,
Nippity-nee,
To take up the sugar
To put in our tea.
s
Nippity-nee!
T was a tortoise,
All yellow and black:
He walked slowly away,
And he never came back.
t
Torty never came back!
U was an urn
All polished and bright,
And full of hot water
At noon and at night.
u
Useful old urn!
V was a villa
Which stood on a hill,
By the side of a river,
And close to a mill.
v
Nice little villa!
W was a whale
With a very long tail,
Whose movements were frantic
Across the Atlantic.
w
Monstrous old whale!
X was King Xerxes,
Who, more than all Turks, is
Renowned for his fashion
Of fury and passion.
x
Angry old Xerxes!
Y was a yew,
Which flourished and grew
By a quiet abode
Near the side of a road.
y
Dark little yew!
Z was some zinc,
So shiny and bright,
Which caused you to wink
In the sun's merry light.
z
Beautiful zinc!
Edward Lear.
The Table and the Chair
I
Said the Table to the Chair,
"You can hardly be aware
How I suffer from the heat
And from chilblains on my feet.
If we took a little walk,
We might have a little talk;
Pray let us take the air,"
Said the Table to the Chair.
II
Said the Chair unto the Table,
"Now, you know we are not able:
How foolishly you talk,
When you know we cannot walk!"
Said the Table with a sigh,
"It can do no harm to try.
I've as many legs as you:
Why can't we walk on two?"
III
So they both went slowly down,
And walked about the town
With a cheerful bumpy sound
As they toddled round and round;
And everybody cried,
As they hastened to their side,
"See! the Table and the Chair
Have come out to take the air!"
IV
But in going down an alley,
To a castle in a valley,
They completely lost their way,
And wandered all the day;
Till, to see them safely back,
They paid a Ducky-quack,
And a Beetle, and a Mouse,
Who took them to their house.
V
Then they whispered to each other,
"O delightful little brother,
What a lovely walk we've taken!
Let us dine on beans and bacon."
So the Ducky and the leetle
Browny-Mousy and the Beetle
Dined, and danced upon their heads
Till they toddled to their beds.
Edward Lear.
Feeding the Fairies
Fairies, fairies, come and be fed,
Come and be fed like hens and cocks;
Hither and thither with delicate tread,
Flutter around me in fairy flocks.
Come, little fairies, from far and near;
Come, little fairies, I know you can fly;
Who can be dear if you are not dear?
And who is so fond of a fairy as I?
Fairies, fairies, come if you please,
Nod your heads and ruffle your wings,
Marching in order or standing at ease,
Frolicsome fairies are dear little things!
Golden the grain and silver the rice,
Pleasant the crumbs from Mama's own bread,
Currants pick'd out of the pudding are nice—
Fairies, fairies, come and be fed!
Hushaby, oh! hushaby, oh!
Hide by the door—keep very still—
I must be gentle, I must speak low,
Or frighten the fairies I certainly will.
Fairies are easily frighten'd, I know;
They are so small, we must pity their fears.
Hushaby, oh! hushaby, oh!
Coax them and humour them—poor little dears!
Fairies, fairies, why don't you come?
Fairies, fairies, wherefore delay?
In a few minutes I must run home—
Cross little creatures! you know I can't stay!
See how I scatter your beautiful food—
Good little fairies would come when I call;
Fairies, fairies, won't you be good?
What is the use of my speaking at all?
"Two Friends."
The Fairy
Oh, who is so merry
As the light-hearted fairy?
He dances and sings
To the sound of his wings,
With a hey, and a heigh, and a ho!
Oh, who is so merry
As the light-hearted fairy?
His nectar he sips
From the primrose's lips,
With a hey, and a heigh, and a ho!
Oh, who is so merry
As the light-hearted fairy?
His night is the noon,
And his sun is the moon,
With a hey, and a heigh, and a ho!
Unknown.
V
THE QUEEN-MOTHER'S COUNSEL
A Thought[7]
It is very nice to think
The world is full of meat and drink,
With little children saying grace
In every Christian kind of place.
Robert Louis Stevenson.
Inscription for My Little Son's Silver Plate[8]
When thou dost eat from off this plate,
I charge thee be thou temperate;
Unto thine elders at the board
Do thou sweet reverence accord;
And, though to dignity inclined,
Unto the serving-folk be kind;
Be ever mindful of the poor,
Nor turn them hungry from the door;
And unto God, for health and food
And all that in thy life is good,
Give thou thy heart in gratitude.
Eugene Field.
Praise God
Praise God for wheat, so white and sweet.
Of which to make our bread!
Praise God for yellow corn, with which
His waiting world is fed!
Praise God for fish and flesh and fowl
He gave to men for food!
Praise God for every creature which
He made and called it good!
Praise God for winter's store of ice,
Praise God for summer's heat!
Praise God for fruit trees bearing seed,
"To you it is for meat!"
Praise God for all the bounty
By which the world is fed!
Praise God, ye children all, to whom
He gives your daily bread!
Unknown.
The Eyes of God
God watches o'er us all the day,
At home, at school, and at our play;
And when the sun has left the skies
He watches with a million eyes.
Gabriel Setoun.
Kindness to Animals
Little children, never give
Pain to things that feel and live:
Let the gentle robin come
For the crumbs you save at home,—
As his meat you throw along
He'll repay you with a song;
Never hurt the timid hare
Peeping from her green grass lair,
Let her come and sport and play
On the lawn at close of day;
The little lark goes soaring high
To the bright windows of the sky,
Singing as if 'twere always spring,
And fluttering on an untired wing,—
Oh! let him sing his happy song,
Nor do these gentle creatures wrong.
Unknown.
How Doth the Little Busy Bee
How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day
From every opening flow'r!
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 ev'ry day
Some good account at last.
Isaac Watts.
Deeds of Kindness
Suppose the little cowslip
Should hang its golden cup,
And say, "I'm such a tiny flower,
I'd better not grow up."
How many a weary traveller
Would miss its fragrant smell!
How many a little child would grieve
To lose it from the dell!
Suppose the glistening dewdrop
Upon the grass should say,
"What can a little dewdrop do?
I'd better roll away."
The blade on which it rested,
Before the day was done,
Without a drop to moisten it,
Would wither in the sun.
Suppose the little breezes,
Upon a summer's day,
Should think themselves too small to cool
The traveller on his way:
Who would not miss the smallest
And softest ones that blow,
And think they made a great mistake,
If they were talking so?
How many deeds of kindness
A little child may do,
Although it has so little strength,
And little wisdom too!
It wants a loving spirit,
Much more than strength, to prove
How many things a child may do
For others by its love.
F. P.
Good Advice
Seldom "can't,"
Seldom "don't";
Never "shan't,"
Never "won't."
Christina G. Rossetti.
I'll Try
Two Robin Redbreasts built their nest
Within a hollow tree;
The hen sat quietly at home,
The cock sang merrily;
And all the little robins said:
"Wee, wee, wee, wee, wee, wee."
One day the sun was warm and bright,
And shining in the sky,
Cock Robin said: "My little dears,
'Tis time you learned to fly";
And all the little young ones said:
"I'll try, I'll try, I'll try."
I know a child, and who she is
I'll tell you by and by,
When mother says "Do this," or "that,"
She says "What for?" and "Why?"
She'd be a better child by far
If she would say "I'll try."
Unknown.
Clothes
Although my clothes are fine and gay
They should not make me vain,
For Nurse can take them all away,
And put them on again.
Each flower grows her pretty gown,
So does each little weed,
Their dresses are their very own,
They may be proud indeed!
Abbie Farwell Brown.
A Music Box
I am a little Music Box
Wound up and made to go,
And play my little living-tune
The best way that I know.
If I am naughty, cross, or rude
The music will go wrong,
My little works be tangled up,
And spoil the pretty song.
I must be very sweet and good
And happy all the day,
And then the little Music Box
In tune will always play.
Abbie Farwell Brown.
If Ever I See
If ever I see,
On bush or tree,
Young birds in their pretty nest,
I must not in play,
Steal the birds away,
To grieve their mother's breast.
My mother, I know,
Would sorrow so,
Should I be stolen away;
So I'll speak to the birds
In my softest words,
Nor hurt them in my play.
And when they can fly
In the bright blue sky,
They'll warble a song to me;
And then if I'm sad
It will make me glad
To think they are happy and free.
Lydia Maria Child.
Employment
Who'll come and play with me here under the tree,
My sisters have left me alone;
My sweet little Sparrow, come hither to me,
And play with me while they are gone.
O no, little lady, I can't come, indeed,
I've no time to idle away,
I've got all my dear little children to feed,
And my nest to new cover with hay.
Pretty Bee, do not buzz about over the flower,
But come here and play with me, do:
The Sparrow won't come and stay with me an hour
But stay, pretty Bee—will not you?
O no, little lady, for do not you see,
Those must work who would prosper and thrive,
If I play, they would call me a sad idle bee,
And perhaps turn me out of the hive.
Stop! stop! little Ant—do not run off so fast,
Wait with me a little and play:
I hope I shall find a companion at last,
You are not so busy as they.
O no, little lady, I can't stay with you,
We're not made to play, but to labor:
I always have something or other to do,
If not for myself, for a neighbor.
What then, have they all some employment but me,
Who lie lounging here like a dunce?
O then, like the Ant, and the Sparrow, and Bee,
I'll go to my lesson at once.
Jane Taylor.
Stitching
A pocket handkerchief to hem—
Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!
How many stitches it will take
Before it's done, I fear.
Yet set a stitch and then a stitch,
And stitch and stitch away,
Till stitch by stitch the hem is done—
And after work is play!
Christina G. Rossetti.
Learning to Play
Upon a tall piano stool
I have to sit and play
A stupid finger exercise
For half an hour a day.
They call it "playing," but to me
It's not a bit of fun.
I play when I am out of doors,
Where I can jump and run.
But Mother says the little birds
Who sing so nicely now,
Had first to learn, and practice too,
All sitting on a bough.
And maybe if I practice hard,
Like them, I too, some day,
Shall make the pretty music sound;
Then I shall call it "play."
Abbie Farwell Brown.
In Trust[9]
It's coming, boys,
It's almost here;
It's coming, girls,
The grand New Year!
A year to be glad in,
Not to be bad in;
A year to live in,
To gain and give in;
A year for trying,
And not for sighing;
A year for striving
And hearty thriving;
A bright new year.
Oh! hold it dear;
For God who sendeth
He only lendeth.
Mary Mapes Dodge.
VI
THE PALACE BED-TIME
Watching Angels
Angels at the foot,
And Angels at the head,
And like a curly little lamb
My pretty babe in bed.
Christina G. Rossetti.
The Story of Baby's Blanket
Once a little Baby,
On a sunny day,
Out among the daisies
Took his happy way.
Little lambs were frisking
In the fields so green,
While the fleecy mothers
All at rest were seen.
For a while the Baby
Played and played and played;
Then he sat and rested
In the pleasant shade.
Soon a Sheep came near him,
Growing very bold,
And this wondrous story
To the Baby told:
"Baby's little blanket,
Socks and worsted ball,
Winter cap and mittens,
And his flannels all,
And his pretty afghan
Warm and soft and fine,
Once as wool were growing
On this back of mine!
"And the soft bed blankets,
For his cosey sleep,
These were also given
By his friends, the sheep."
Such the wondrous story
That the Baby heard:
Did he understand it?
Not a single word!
Emilie Poulsson.
The Story of Baby's Pillow
These are the Eggs that were put in a nest;
These are the Goslings in yellow down drest.
This is the Farmyard where, living in peace,
All the young Goslings grew up to be Geese.
Here's the Goose family waddling about—
In a procession they always walk out.
This is the Farmer who said, "Every Goose
Now has some feathers on, ready for use."
This is the Farmer's Wife, plucking with care
All of the feathers the Geese can well spare.
This is the Pillow the Merchant displayed:
"Yes, of the finest Goose-feathers 'tis made."
This is the Mother who put on its case,
Laid the wee Pillow away in its place.
This is the Crib with its furnishings white,
This the dear Baby who bids you "Good-night."
Emilie Poulsson.
The New Moon
Dear mother, how pretty
The moon looks to-night!
She was never so cunning before;
Her two little horns
Are so sharp and so bright,
I hope she'll not grow any more.
If I were up there
With you and my friends,
I'd rock in it nicely, you see;
I'd sit in the middle
And hold by both ends;
O, what a bright cradle 'twould be!
I would call to the stars
To keep out of the way,
Lest we should rock over their toes,
And there I would rock
Till the dawn of the day,
And see where the pretty moon goes.
And there we would stay
In the beautiful skies,
And through the bright clouds we would roam;
We would see the sun set,
And see the sun rise,
And on the next rainbow come home.
Eliza Lee Follen.
Lady Moon
Lady moon, lady moon,
Sailing so high!
Drop down to baby
From out the clear sky;
Babykin, babykin,
Down far below,
I hear thee calling,
But I cannot go.
But lady moon sendeth thee
Soft shining rays;
Moon loves the baby,
The moonlight says.
In her house dark and blue,
Though she must stay,
Kindly she'll watch thee
Till dawns the new day.
Kate Kellogg.
The Star
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:
He could not 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.
Unknown.
The Child's Star
The star that watched above your sleep has just put out his light.
"Good day, to you on earth," he said, "is here in heav'n, good night."
"But tell the child when he awakes, to watch for my return,
For I'll hang out my lamp again, when his begins to burn."
John B. Tabb.
Do You Know How Many Stars?
Do you know how many stars
There are shining in the skies?
Do you know how many clouds
Ev'ry day go floating by?
God in heaven has counted all,
He would miss one should it fall.
Do you know how many children
Go to little beds at night,
And without a care or sorrow,
Wake up in the morning light?
God in heaven each name can tell,
Loves you, too, and loves you well.
From the German.