Chapter I: Preface

Should an apology be needed for issuing a book of
poetry so very simple as “WEE-WEE SONGS,” it may
be found in the article entitled “Mother Goose,” on page
7th. The desire expressed by Willie’s mother,

“That those who love Jesus
Would oftener read
The sweet words he uttered,
My lambs, ye must feed.”

has ever found a warm response in the heart of

LEILA.

WEE-WEE SONGS

FOR OUR LITTLE PETS.

MOTHER GOOSE.

“Mamma,” said our Sue,
“You sent me to-day,
Up stairs with the nurse
And Willie to play.

“And I told her I thought
It was wicked and silly,
To say things like these
To our dear little Willy--

“‘Oh, hi-diddle,
Diddle,
The cat has the
Fiddle,
The cow has jumped
Over the moon,
The little dog laughed
To see all the sport,
And the dish ran away
With the spoon.’

“Nurse says she has found
The book of great use,
For children are pleased
To hear Mother Goose.

“Now, is it not wrong
To tell them a lie?
If not, I am sure
I cannot see why.”

“I think you are right,”
Her mother replied;
“Nurse must try to amuse him
With something beside.

“But babies are pleased
With the jingle of rhyme,
And old Mother Goose
Has been used a long time.

“We must find Wee-Wee Songs,
That are not quite so silly,
And buy them for nurse,
To amuse little Willy.

“We give him, each day,
Fresh milk and sweet bread,
And his dear little mind
Must be properly fed.

“’Tis not easy to find
Sweet thoughts, good and true,
In nursery rhymes;
I wish, my dear Sue,

That those who love Jesus
Would oftener read
Those sweet words he uttered,
_My lambs_ ye must feed![1]

“For this beautiful world,
So joyous and bright,
Has so many things
Of which poets might write.

“The blue sky above us,
The flowers and the trees,
The warbling of birds,
And the hum of the bees.

“These bright thoughts would give
Our darling great pleasure,
If written in simple,
And sweet-flowing measure.

SLEEP, DOLLY!

Do, Miss Dolly,
Shut your eye;
I will wake you
By and by.

Wee-Wee Songs
I want to read;
You must go
To sleep indeed.

You’re my little
Pet, ’tis true,
But I can not
Read to you;

For you never
Seem to hear,
Tho’ I read quite
Loud and clear.

Little songs are
Not for you;
Mind, I’ve told you
What to do!

So, Miss Dolly
Shut your eye;
I will wake you
By and by.

WAKE, DOLLY!

Wee-Wee Songs
Are put away;
Dolly, wake,
’Tis time to play!

You have been
So good to-day
I am sure
You ought to play.

Dolly, now
You must obey;
Wake, I say,
And come and play!

Don’t you hear me
When I say,
Dolly, wake,
’Tis time to play?

Do you dare
To disobey
When I call,
Come out to play?

Are you deaf,
My pet, to-day?
Then I’ll _lead_ you
Out to play.

ELLA AND THE ROSES.

“What beautiful roses! Oh do, dear mamma,
Just pick one or two ere we go;
If the gardener were here he would not refuse
To give us some flowers, I know.”

“The gardener’s _not here_,” her mother replied;
He asked us to _see_ his sweet flowers;
“I trust, my dear child, you would not wish to steal,--
These roses, you know, are not ours.

“Their beautiful fragrance you now can inhale,
Their lovely, bright colors enjoy,
Should you steal but one rose you’d be happy no more,
You would lose all this innocent joy.”

“O no! dear mamma, I should not wish to steal,
So I’ll bid these sweet roses adieu!
Now, Rover,” said Ella, “we’re ready to play,
And I will be happy with you.”

IDA MAY.

No little girl
More bright and gay,
Or happier
Than Ida May

As she ran off
To school one day,
And passed the store
Of Mr. Gray,

Where, near the door,
Some ripe plums lay,
And Satan whispered,
Ida May--

Take but one plum,
Then run away;
You’ll not be seen
By Mr. Gray.

Oh, had she thought
One prayer to say,
She’d not have sinned,
Poor Ida May!

She caught one up,
Then ran away,
And was not seen
By Mr. Gray.

Ah, sinful child,
To disobey
The Word of God--
Hear, Ida May!

“Thou shalt not steal!”
Now hear Him say,
And you have stolen
From Mr. Gray.

The voice of God
Will you obey?
It whispers now,
Stop! Ida May,--

’Tis not too late,
Go back, you may
Return the plum
To Mr. Gray.

Then lift your heart
To God, and pray,
“Forgive the sin
Of Ida May.”

That still, small voice
She did obey,
And ran with haste
To Mr. Gray,

And told him all
Without delay;
The good man pitied
Ida May.

He gently wiped
Her tears away;
And when she left,
Kind Mr. Gray

Said to the child,
“One moment stay--
I’ll _give_ some plums
To Ida May.”

“I could not eat
A plum to-day!”
Said Ida, then,
To Mr. Gray.

She went to school
And all the way
God saw the heart
Of Ida May

Was sweetly raised
To Him, to pray
That He would wash
Her sins away--

For Jesus’ sake.
And God that day,
Freely forgave
Dear Ida May.

THE PEACOCK.

Is it right, Mr. Peacock, to strut about so?
Your plumage is fine ’tis allowed;
And had _you_ but painted that beautiful tail,
You would then, with some reason, feel proud.

Many bright little flowers, as pretty as you,
Are found in some shady retreat.
Go learn of the rose-buds and violets, too,
Their modesty renders them sweet.

God gave you the plumage we so much admire;
God painted the butterfly’s wing;
God deck’d the green fields with flowers so gay,
And taught the dear birds how to sing.

Many things in this beautiful world He has made
To look quite as pretty as you;
So please, Mr. Peacock, don’t feel quite so proud,
As your gay, brilliant plumage we view!

MINNIE’S FAITHFULNESS

“Brother, may I unpack your trunk?” said little Minnie Bell. “O yes, my dear; how glad I am to get home safe and well; I’ve been in California for more than three long years, But I’m safely home at last, in spite of mother’s fears.”

“Yes, Alfred, it has seemed, to dear mamma and me, A long, long time, and we are glad your happy face to see; Morning and evening, do you know? when we knelt down to pray, Mamma has asked, that God would bless and guard you while away.

“And God has kindly heard her prayer, and kept you safe and well.” She worked awhile,--at length, she said, “Dear Alfred, please to tell Where you have put your Bible? I’ve unpacked the trunk with care, And I have laid upon the bed most all the clothes you wear.

“I’ve looked at every article, and yet I have not seen A Bible or a Testament; brother, what can it mean? I fear that you have been without a Bible all the way; Is it in California, or have you lost it,--say?”

“You little chatter-box, do see the presents I have brought; This for mamma, and that for you; Why! really I had thought The beautiful new dress I bought would please my sister well; How do you like this India fan, I ask you, Minnie Bell?”

“O, it is very beautiful! I thank you, Alfred, dear; But yet you have not told me, what most I wish to hear.” “Well, Minnie,” said her brother, “if really you must know, When I sailed for California my Bible did not go.

“I know ’twas wrong to leave it out, for never have I seen A Bible or a Testament in any place I’ve been; We did not often think of God when we were digging gold; That is the truth; now, Minnie dear, pray don’t begin to scold.”

“Forgotten God for three long years! Alfred, can this be true? Dear brother, were you not afraid of God’s forgetting you?” He took the dear child in his arms, and bursting into tears, “My conduct has been wrong,” he said, “how sinful it appears!”

Just then his mother entered, with her heart quite full of joy And gratitude to God above, who had kept her darling boy; She had been alone to thank him, and offer up a prayer That God who had preserved her son, would keep him in his care.

“Dear mother, will you pray,” said he, “and read in God’s own Word That story of the Prodigal, which I have often heard; For I have wandered far away, but now desire to come And love and serve that Being who hath safely brought me home?”

Her prayer was heard; and Alfred Bell is now a Christian man, Serving his God with faithfulness, and doing all he can That those who go to distant lands, to search for mines of gold, May find within God’s holy Word a mine of wealth untold.

THE PULSIFER CHILDREN.

Oh, Mother! said little Ruth Greenwood one day, Please come to the window this moment, I pray, For two little children are here, by the door, They are weary and cold, and they look very poor.

The Pulsifer children, I see, said her mother, ’Tis dear little Ella, and Harry, her brother Run, call them in quickly! their mother, I know Returned to this village a few days ago.

I sent them, this morning, a cart-load of wood, And fear that they now may be suffering for food; We’ll fill up their baskets with bread and with meat, And give the dear children a plenty to eat.

Their mother is proud, and she cannot endure The neighbors should know they are now very poor; But since we’ve “a will,” we must find out “a way,” To help this poor widow--we must not delay.

Her father’s a drunkard, her husband is dead, And she is too ill to hold up her head; The wretched old man now reels thro’ the street, And never provides them a mouthful to eat.

Ruth ran to the door, and called them both in; Their feet were most naked, their garments were thin, Too thin to go out in this cold wintry weather; Here Ruth and her sister both whispered together.

O, yes, sister Mary, those stockings you’ve knit, Just the thing, and so warm! I am sure they will fit; We’ll make up a bundle, and stow it away In the baskets they’ve left in the entry to-day.

Little Ella and Harry were grateful indeed, That God had provided such friends in their need; Their baskets were filled with biscuit and meat, And warm shoes and stockings to cover their feet.

The Greenwood’s oft drew from their plentiful store, And quietly sent to the poor widow’s door Such things as she needed. Her proud heart was melted; She welcomed their visits, and soon was contented To let little Harry and Ella go where They could hear of the Saviour, and his tender care, Of dear orphan children--the story, to day, You may read in a book called “A WILL AND A WAY”[2]

MORNING SONG AND MORNING PRAYER.

MOTHER.

Awake, my daughter, come and see This Robin red-breast on the tree; Open your drowsy eyes! Spring up from bed and see her now, She’s lighting on the highest bough, Come quick, before she flies!

LILLIE.

Yes, dear mamma, I see the bird, And sweeter notes I never heard Than she is warbling now; I hope she will not fly away, But sit and sing the live-long day, On this, her favorite bough.

MOTHER.

The birds must build their nests in Spring, They have to work as well as sing; To their Creator’s praise, Since early dawn, dear Lillie, she Has warbled out, from yonder tree, Her very sweetest lays.

Now tell me, who has kindly kept My little daughter while she slept; Who heard her evening prayer, And gently closed the weary eye, Nor suffered danger to come nigh, But kept her in his care?

LILLIE.

I laid me down, mamma, and slept, Because the Lord sustained and kept His child thro’ all the night; And now I lift my heart and pray, O, God, I thank thee for this day, That I may see its light!

When all my friends were fast asleep, Thou didst my soul in safety keep, And took kind care of me; Father in Heaven, O, hear me now, As at thy feet I humbly bow, To ask a gift of thee.

Give me thy spirit from above, That I may learn to know and love My best and dearest Friend,-- The Savior, who hath died for me, That I his little lamb may be, O Lord thy spirit send!

And now, be with me all the day, That whether I’m at work or play, I may remember, then, The eye of God is still on me, Oh, help me thy dear child to be, For Jesus’ sake,--Amen.

PLAY-TIME.

Lillie, put
Your work away,
Now ’tis time
To go and play.

You have been
So good to-day,
You’ll be happy
When you play.

BABY’S FIRST STEPS.

Baby, darling,
Do not fear,
Move those little
Feet, my dear;

Don’t stand waiting
There so long;
You are growing
Very strong.

Here he comes,
Oh, that’s the way!
Nurse, I know
Mamma will say,

When she comes home, Why, how you talk! Is baby learning how to walk?

Try again,
Little pet,
You have not
Fallen yet;

Here she comes;
Look, nurse, look!
All alone,
Three steps she took.

When papa
Comes home to-night,
It will give him
Great delight;

And he will say, Why, how you talk! Are you sure the child can walk?

Nurse, I love
Our baby so,
I must teach her
All I know.

That’s not much,
Papa would say,
He laughs at me
Most every day,

Because I’m old
Enough to read,
Oh dear! that’s very
Hard indeed.

But, baby, we will not stop to talk, We are going out doors to teach you to walk.

CONVERSATION UPON ICE.

MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.

“Come, dear,” said Mrs. Jones one day,
To Jane, her little daughter,
“Come, look at this large block of ice,
Now floating in the water!

“You could not lift it from the ground,
If you should try all day,
And yet, like a mere feather, now,
You see it float away.”

“Oh, yes, mamma, it does seem strange,
That it should never sink,
Why that large block of ice should float,
I’m sure I cannot think.

“How very kind it is in God
To freeze the waters so,
That on the top the ice remains
And cannot sink below!

“For, while our winters are so cold,
How short a time ’twould take
To form one solid mass of ice,
In river, pond, or lake!

“And thus, from year to year, mamma,
Winter would ever reign,
For such a mass could never melt
When summer came again.

“But tell me how the ice is formed,
And what can make it float
Upon the surface of the lake,
Just like a little boat?”

“Our Heavenly Father, Jane, has filled
With bubbles full of air,
Each lump of ice--and we may see
His goodness everywhere.

“The air expands within the ice,
Just as its Maker pleases,
And rarifies to make it light,
Whene’er the water freezes.

“Thin cakes thus form in layers, Jane,
As you may often see
One ring within another, round
The body of a tree,

“And thus ’tis piled from week to week,
While Jack Frost is about,
Until the men with horses come,
To float the treasure out.”

“And what a luxury, mamma,
These large ice blocks will be
When summer comes, and we again
Such sultry weather see!

“Last August, I remember well,
When I came home from school,
How good the water used to taste,
With ice to make it cool.

“And then, you know, we used to have
Our butter hard and nice,
Our cake kept cool, and fish, and meat,
Preserved with lumps of ice.”

“Yes, dearest, God is ever kind--
How constant is his care!
He gives not only food and drink,
And clothes for us to wear,--

“But happy homes with luxuries filled,
And this bright world of ours
Is stored with precious gifts of love,
Abundant fruits and flowers,

“To gratify the taste of man,
And fill his heart with joy;
Then, should not grateful thoughts of God
Each passing hour employ?”

“Yes, dear mamma, for warbling birds
Send up their sweetest lays,
To thank Him for his gifts of love,
And we should offer praise

“To the great God, our dearest friend,
Who lives and reigns above;
Will you not pray to Him, mamma,
To fill my heart with love?”

HAPPY DOLLY.

Happy at night,
Happy by day;
Happy at home,
Happy away!

Dolly darling,
Never, never,
Are you cross,
But happy ever!

EDDIE IN THE COUNTRY.

“I’m sure ’tis too pleasant this beautiful day
To sit here so quietly playing,
Come, Lillie, let’s be off to the mountain away,
And see where the sheep are now straying!”

So said little Eddie, and ran with great joy,
To ask if his cousin could go;
But tho’ his aunt wished to oblige the dear boy,
She still was compelled to say no.

“I have given my daughter a lesson to learn,
Then follows a half hour’s sewing;
Should this be well done, then with pleasure she’ll earn,
And I shall not object to her going.

“You remember, last evening, she promised papa,
His handkerchief neatly to sew,
I have fitted her work, when ’tis done,” said mamma,
“And the lesson is learned, she may go.”

“I can work after dinner,” said Lillie, “do please
Just _for once_ to grant Eddie’s request.”
“My dear,” said her mother, “’tis no use to teaze,
After work, not before, you may rest.”

Lillie took up her book, with a tear in her eye,
She could scarce see a word that was in it;
But Eddie declared ’twas of no use to cry,
And she thought so herself in a minute.

Resolving to try, and do all in her power,
To make of each duty a pleasure,
She conquered; and said to mamma, “in an hour,
Please hear me recite, if you’ve leisure!”

Her mother looked pleased, as she said, “how is this,
Papa’s handkerchief hemmed and all ready?
Well done, my dear child! Now give me a kiss,
Then run out and find cousin Eddie.”

BIBLE SOLD BY WEIGHT.

Please put the Bible in one scale, the papers in the other; ’Tis mine? ’tis mine! dear Willie cried, and ran to tell his mother. His little heart was full of joy as he ran home again; How he obtained the Bible, young reader, we’ll explain.

He went to buy his mother, at noon, a pound of tea, And, when the grocer weighed it out, the child observed that he Turned round to tear a Bible that on the counter lay, He had bought it for waste paper, he said that very day.

He was almost out of paper to wrap his parcels in. Now the grocer could not read, and knew not what a sin It was to tear this Holy Book and take each well-worn leaf To use for such a purpose; but when he saw the grief

Of his little favorite, Willie, he kindly said, I’m sure I’ll give you the old volume if some papers you’ll procure, As much as this great book will weigh--you see it is not light,-- Run home and see what you can find, and bring them before night.

The boy was very poor, indeed, but he was good and kind, And when he went among his friends, it was not hard to find Those who approved of Willie’s care of God’s most Holy Word, They gladly gave the papers when the story they had heard.

An hour had scarcely passed, when the grocer saw, with pleasure, The little boy returning to claim the promised treasure. He placed the Bible in one scale, the papers in the other. Oh, thank you, sir! ’tis mine! he cried, and ran to tell his mother.

How happy was that mother; God’s Word was her delight A light unto her path by day,--a guiding star at night; She raised her heart in thankfulness, that he had learned to prize His precious Bible, and had gained a treasure in the skies.

OH, SPARE THE BIRDS.

Spare the dear little birds, don’t kill them I pray!
But listen, and hear their sweet song;
To spoil all our music, and shoot them to-day,
Oh, sportsmen, you know ’twould be wrong!

At dawn of the day, they are warbling away,
But they never have done the least harm;
The summer’s most gone, they’ve a short time to stay--
They will soon fly away from our farm.

To the bright sunny South, they then will repair,
In autumn they flock off together;
Our Father in Heaven with kind, watchful care,
Then guides them in search of warm weather.

I’m sure ’twill displease Him, if merely for sport
You shoot these sweet songsters to-day;
Remember, kind sportsmen, their life is but short;
Oh, spare them, in pity, I pray!

CROSS GIRL.

Jane, my dear,
How can you be
Cross to little
Emily!

When she’s such
A darling child;
Always gentle,
Meek and mild.

TRENTON FALLS.

See Frontispiece and other views of Trenton Falls.

Cascades roaring
In their might,--
Waters pouring
From the height,--

Wildly bounding
On their way,--
Loud resounding,
Seem to say,--

See us toiling,
As we glide;--
Hear us boiling,
Far and wide.

We are living,
Not in vain,--
We are giving
Back again

Plenteous rain-drops
To the sun,
As it cheers us
While we run.

Rising, leaping,
Over hills,--
We are keeping
Yonder mills

Swiftly going
Round and round;
Onward flowing,
We are found.

Useful ever,
As we go;
Silent never.
Do you know

We are teaching
You to-day;
Hear our preaching.
Children, stay!

Learn a lesson
Of the river;
Yield your hearts
To God, their giver.

Ever raising
Grateful praise,
Loving, serving,
All your days.

PAPA’S REQUEST.

Write very often, children,--
Write papa very soon;
Your letters will be dearer
Than lovliest flowers in June;
For papa will be absent
Throughout the long, long year.
Write to him very often
What he will wish to hear.

That Fred and sister Bessie
Are learning with their might,
And little Nell and Jessie
Are doing what is right.
Dear children, help each other,
At morning, noon, and night,
And then your happy mother
Will find it sweet to write.

Write papa very often,--
Write in the early morn,
Or write him just at twilight,
When all the day is gone;
Draw out the pretty table,
Mamma will bring a light,
And help the older children
To gather round and write.

Write of the loving kindness
Of that dear Friend above,
To whom, in papa’s absence,
He would lead your hearts in love.
Think of Him in the morning,
And think of Him at night,
And of his acts of kindness
Do not forget to write.

Write very often, dear ones,--
Write papa very soon,
Your letters will be dearer
Than loveliest flowers in June.
If, while papa is absent,
You’d fill him with delight,
Think of him very often,
And don’t forget to write.

JANE’S QUESTION.

“Mamma,” said Jane, “what will you do When you have read your Bible through? You read so carefully each part, I think you’ll know it all by heart.”

Her mother smiled and said, “Why, then I mean to read it through again; And hope my daughter soon will be Able to read God’s Book with me.”

“Yes, dear mamma, I soon shall read, I’m learning very fast, indeed; And I should gladly leave my play For Bible stories any day.

“But, then, you know, to me they’re new; Now, when I’ve read a book twice through, I’m tired of it, and want another,-- Why do you not feel so, dear mother?”

“Indeed, my love, I often do Tire of some books as quick as you; I should not even read them twice, _Once reading_ will for me suffice.

“But we may read, and read again, These sweet words of our Father, Jane, From youth to age, and as we come Nearer and nearer to our home--

“Our happy home in heaven above, This Book we more and more shall love; Sweeter than honey, and more dear Than precious gems, ’twill then appear.

“May God his grace to you impart, And write these truths upon your heart. Now, darling, put your work away, ’Tis time for you to run and play,-- We’ll talk of this some other day.”

JOHN MASON AND HIS SLED

“O, how I wish we owned a sleigh,”
Said Susie to her mother;
“I want to go to school to-day,
With Nellie and my brother!”

Her mother sighed, and said, “My dear,
Your sister cannot go;
They have not made a path, I fear,
Since this great fall of snow.”

Here James ran in with joy, and said,
“Dear mother, come and see;
John Mason’s here with his new sled,
He offers it to me

“To take our Nell to school to-day;
I am to be the horse;
Please wrap her up without delay,
You’ll let her go, of course!”

“And Susie, too,” John Mason cried,
“I’ll take her on my back;
Nell and the dinner, both can ride,--
John, follow in my track!”

The mother’s heart was filled with joy,
She watched them from the door,
A happy group! And that dear boy
Who thought upon the poor,

Think you, he was not happy, too,
When he went home at night!
If you would hear the story through,
Read “RIGHT, AND ABOUT RIGHT.”[3]

RIDE TO SCHOOL IN WINTER.

“We are ready;
Let us go
Swiftly over
Ice and snow;
Nell and Susie,
Side by side,
You shall have
A glorious ride!”
See the happy children go
Smoothly o’er the ice and snow!

“Clasp your arms
Around me tight;
Hold on, Susie,
That is right;--
Nellie, keep
The basket still
When we dash
Down yonder hill!”
Thus the happy children go
Briskly o’er the ice and snow.

“Wintry weather
Cannot harm us,
Nor Jack Frost
E’er alarm us;
How exciting!
Onward move,
Hearts uniting
Thus in love.”
Merrily singing, on they go
Quickly o’er the ice and snow.

“Oh, we love
This bracing air,
Though the snow
Is everywhere;
Fingers cold?
Never mind it.
There’s a fire,
We shall find it,
When we reach the school, you know,
Over the ice and over the snow.

“Now we toil
Up the hill,
Wear-i-ly,
But upward still,
Soon the height
We shall gain,
Pull the sled
With might and main.”
Struggling, toiling, up they go
Wearily over the ice and snow!

Then along
The level ground,
On they go
With a bound;
Merry shouts
Everywhere
Ringing through
The frosty air;
See the happy children go
Smoothly o’er the ice and snow!

See! they’re dashing
Down the hill,
Boys are calling,
“Nell, be still!”
Teeth are chattering
In her head,
Dishes rattling
On the sled;
Girls are frightened though they go
Safely o’er the ice and snow.

Now they near
The school-house door--
There’s the pond
All frozen o’er;
Hear the happy
Children singing,
Through the air
Their voices ringing;
Sliding, skating, merrily, oh!
Swiftly over the ice and snow!

Nell and Sue
Have found a seat,
And have warmed
Their hands and feet;
When the bell
Rings loud and clear,
Leave your sports
Children dear!
Quickly into the school they go,
Merrily leaving the ice and snow.

THE KIND BROTHER.

Coach is tackled;
Sister, run,
Put your gloves
And bonnet on!

It is about
A week ago,
We were promised,
Sis, you know,

Were we good,
We should to-day
Take the coach
And ride away.

Cousins now
Are all at home;
Glad they’ll be
To see us come.

Oh, how pleasant
’Tis to ride,
All along
The river side!

Sister, come,
Do not delay,
’Tis quite time
To start away.

Now you’r crying!
Are’nt you well?
What’s the matter?
Mary, tell?

THE FIRST LIE.

Brother, do not
Ask me why!
Yet, you’ll hear,--
I’ve told a lie!

And here, shut up,
I’m doomed to stay,
And weep and mourn
The livelong day!

Dear Harry I’m
Afraid that you
And Harriet,
Will hate me too.

For, since I’ve told
This lie, mamma
Don’t speak to me,
Nor does papa.

Not once upon me
Have they smiled,
Since I was such
A wicked child.

Oh, they will hate me,
I’m afraid,
And God, who heard
The words I said,

Will shut all liars
Out of heaven;
Oh, can I ever
Be forgiven?

HARRY.

Dear sister, I
Will tell mamma
How bad you feel,
And ask papa

This evening, when
We kneel to pray,
To ask that God
May wash away

Your sins, and help you,
Every day,
To speak the truth
Whate’er you say.

But first, I’ll send
The coach away
I do not wish
To ride to-day.

GRANITE HILLS IN WINTER.

These hills, so magnificent, lofty, and great! The boast of New Hampshire--the Old Granite State! I have seen them, dear children, and much I admire These beautiful hills in their wintry attire.

The Ice King has laid his cold hand on the rills, They cannot now playfully leap down the hills; Snowy mountain and valley alike are made hoary; Jack Frost reigns triumphant, alone in his glory.

One sees, now and then, a lonely snow-bird, But old Robin red-breast no longer is heard Warbling out a glad song to the praise of her Maker, She has gone where the Ice King cannot overtake her.

Who guides the dear birds, that they never get lost When seeking a home to escape from the frost? Our Father in Heaven--he guides them aright, Till away in the bright, sunny South they alight.

So long as these lofty old hills shall remain, And spring shall renew their bright verdure again, Our loving, kind Father shall still fondly care For the beasts of the field and the fowls of the air.

Not a robin or sparrow can fall to the ground; Not a raven may cry but he heareth the sound. Then will not “Our Father in Heaven” be nigh, And bless us, dear children, when we, too, shall cry?

Oh, yes! Are ye not of more value than they? In accents most tender, we hear Jesus say; And I’m sure, if God takes such kind care of a bird, Our prayers, if sincere, cannot fail to be heard.

THE LAKE--ISLES--NOTCH--WHITE MOUNTAINS, ETC.

If a map of the Old Granite State you will take, Near the borders of Maine you will find that large lake, The Winnipisogee,--so lovely to view Embosoming islands most beautiful, too.

In number they equal the days of the year; And when summer comes no islands appear More lovely in verdure and beauty than these, With rich, fruitful fields, and beautiful trees--

So vocal with birds, warbling out their sweet lays, As if they were chanting their Maker’s praise, Could you _then_ view the lake, dear children, the sight Would fill your young hearts with the greatest delight.

Another famed spot is a narrow defile, Where the mountain seems split for more than a mile, And a picturesque landscape around you is spread, With the White Mountains hanging just over your head.

This Notch is so wonderful, travellers agree, It repays one to come a long distance to see; Amid Alpine heights such views may abound, But in our own country they seldom are found.

American Switzerland! Such is the name We give to the Old Granite State for the fame Of its islands and lakes, its cascades and fountains, And the bold, lofty peaks of the snowy White Mountains.

SHUN THE SWEARER.

Run home, little boy!
Oh, do not stand there,
To hear that bad man
So wickedly swear.

What a sight
We descry
When the Falls
Meet our eye!

THE TELL-TALE.

Emma, I’m sorry to observe
A trick you have, my dear,
Of listening to whate’er is said,
And telling all you hear.

I knew a little Judith Shove,
Who had this habit, too;
She was an active, sprightly girl,
About as old as you.

But what was said and done at home
She always minded well,
And, when she went abroad, the whole
She would be sure to tell.

People were cautious what they said
Where’er she chanced to come,
For well they knew that every word
Would straight be carried home.

The teacher who instructed her,
Had made this wholesome rule,
To punish every child who told
Of what was done in school.

But Judith loved to talk so well,
No rule could hold her long;
She could not bear to be restrained,
Nor learn to hold her tongue.

One day a scholar misbehaved,
This made the teacher fret,
And Judith told the whole affair
To every one she met.

But, when the active school-dame heard
Her laws were disobeyed,
To find the naughty tell-tale child,
A search she quickly made.

Judith well knew the fault was hers,
And greatly did she fear
To take the threatened punishment
Which she deserved to bear.

So, on her little sister she
Contrived the blame to lay,
And said she heard her tell the tale
At home that very day.

The little, frightened, trembling child
With truth the charge denied;
But Judith said, before the school,
That little Sallie lied.

And so she bore what would have been
The wicked Judith’s due,--
The punishment for telling tales,
And speaking falsely, too.

Weeping and sobbing she went home,
Her little heart was full;
And Sallie was a child of truth,
So they believed the whole.

Papa made Judith go to school,
And there, before them all,
Own how deceitful she had been;
Then on her knees to fall
Before the dame and Sallie, too,
Their pardon to obtain,
And promise she would never do
So wickedly again.

But ever after, let her go
Abroad where’er she would,
The boys would hoot her as she passed,
And call her--Tattling Jude!

THE STOLEN PENKNIFE.

“Harry, darling, what’s the matter;
Have you hurt yourself, my boy?
When I went away, this morning,
That bright face was full of joy.”

“Oh, papa,” said Harry, sobbing,
“I do think it is a shame,
My new knife is gone--he stole it,
And I do not know his name.”

“Your new knife! Who stole it, Harry?”
“That big boy, papa, who brought
Shavings here to sell, this morning;
Oh I wish he could be caught.

“I was standing on the sidewalk,
Whittling with my knife to-day,
When he came, and asked to see it,
Then he turned and ran away.”

“Wicked boy! I think I know him;
’Twas a naughty thing to do;
I will bring you home another,
Like the one he stole from you.

“That poor boy has no kind parents,
Nor a bright and happy home;
Wicked children are his playmates,
Through the streets he loves to roam.

“There he learns to be so sinful,
Lying, stealing, every day;
He has no kind friends to teach him,
Morn and evening, how to pray.

“Should you not be thankful, darling,
God has been so good to you;
Given you friends so kind and loving,
Taught you what you ought to do?

“Learn, my son, a useful lesson
From this wretched boy to-day,--
Never choose a bad companion
When you’re in the streets at play.

CROSS GIRL.

MOTHER.

My dear Amelia, I’m ashamed
To hear you quarrel so;
Leave off these naughty airs, my child,
Go play with Frances,--go!

AMELIA.

I can’t, mamma, the little minx
May play with whom she can;
And while she lives she shall not have
My waxen doll again.

“With any other little girl
I should be glad to play;
But I don’t love our Frances, Ma,
I wish she’d go away.

MOTHER.

Amelia, little Betsy Smith
Spends all her time alone;
_She_ had a little sister once,
But now she’s dead and gone.

Betsy, like you, was very cross,
And when she used to play
“With pretty little Emeline,
She’d quarrel every day.

One time her sister said to her,
“Don’t, Betsy, be so cross;
Indeed, I am not well to-day,
And fear I shall be worse.”

“Not well! Oh, yes, you’re very sick!
I don’t believe it’s true;
You only want to coax Mamma
To get nice things for you.”

But Emeline grew worse and worse,
Till she could hardly speak;
And when the doctor came he said,
She would not live a week.

And then it rushed on Betsy’s mind,
How wicked she had been;
The cruel treatment of the child
She never felt till then.

Over her sister’s bed she hung,
With many a bitter sigh,
And laid her arms about her neck,
and begged her not to die.

“Forgive me, Emeline, or else
I do not wish to live;
Oh speak, dear sister, speak once more,
And say you will forgive!

The poor, dear, suffering, dying child
Just raised her languid eye,
And moved her lips, and tried to say,
Dear Betsy, do not cry!

Then Betsey’s sorrowing mother tried
To take her from the bed,
She cast her weeping eyes behind,
And Emeline was dead.

And now poor little Betsy sits,
Day after day, alone;
She does not wish to laugh or play
Since Emeline is gone.

AMELIA.

Mamma, now see I am not cross;
Come, Fanny, let us play!
And you shall have my waxen doll,
And keep it every day.

THE FIRST THEFT.

MOTHER.

Edward, come here, how pale you are!
What makes you look so wild?
And you’ve been crying sadly, too!
What’s happened to my child?

EDWARD.

You know, mamma, you sent me down
To Mr. Brightman’s shop,
With ninepence in my hand to buy
A little humming-top.

Well, Mr. Brightman handed down
A dozen tops or more,
That I might take my choice of one,
Then stepped towards the door.

And so I caught one slily up,
And in my pocket hid it,
No one could e’er suspect the thing,
So cunningly I did it.

Then I took out another top,
And laid my ninepence down,
Laughing to think I owned them both,
But paid for only one.

But, when I turned and left the shop,
I felt most dreadfully;
For all the while I was afraid
That he would follow me.

Oh sure, thought I, he’ll find it out,
The angry man will come,
And I shall never see mamma,
And never more go home.

They’ll tie a rope about my neck,
They’ll hang me up on high,
And leave the little, wicked thief
To hang there till he die.

Away I ran, in this sad fright,
Fast down the nearest lane;
And then I stopped and looked behind,
Then screamed, and ran again.

Trembling, at last I reached my home,
And straight I went to bed,--
But, oh! in such a shocking plight
That I was almost dead.

No rest nor comfort could I take,
And not a wink of sleep;
All I could do was toss and turn
From side to side and weep.

But what was worst of all, mamma,
I could not say my prayers;
And then I thought my heart would burst,
For I was drowned in tears.

For sure, I cried, God will not hear
A child so wicked pray;
I dare not hope he’ll let me live
To see another day.

Thus did I weep till morning dawned,
And yet found no relief;
For, oh! what comfort can there be
For such a wicked thief?

MOTHER.

Go, my poor, wretched, guilty child,
Go, take the top you stole
And give it to the man you wronged,
And own to him the whole.

Then, on your knees before your God,
Confess how vile you’ve been;
Beg him to pardon and forgive
This great and dreadful sin.

And never while you live, again
To such a deed consent,
Lest God should take away your life
Before you could repent.

DOLLY’S NAME.

My Dolly’s name,--
What shall it be?
I want a pretty one,
Let’s see;--

There’s Bessie, Jessie,
Bell, and Nell;
Well, I think
I’ll call her Bell!

COOKING, IN OLD TIMES.

No little girl or boy hath guessed The process or the art By which the early Indians dressed And cut their meat apart; Since neither knife, nor spoon, nor fork, Had they to aid them in their work.

A piece of flint or sharpened shell, The place of knife supplied, And answered every purpose well, To free it from the hide,-- To clear the entrails, scrape the hair, And make the carcass clean and fair.

Then in the earth a pit was made, To hold the fish or game, There, stones at sides and bottom laid, An oven it became; No better did their wants require, And here they lighted up a fire.

From this, when gained sufficient heat, The glowing coals were dug, And here the squaw laid in her meat, With leaves encompassed snug; With heated stones ’twas covered up Till time to breakfast, dine, or sup.

And how, without a pot to boil, Was taught by Indian wit; A stone was sought, and mighty toil A hollow made in it; And water got its warmth alone, From heated pebbles in it thrown.

Then other pebbles, burning hot, Kept up the boiling heat, And in this strangely-fashioned pot Was placed the hunter’s meat; Not over nice, but then, I’m sure, The Indian was no epicure.

Fresh fish, well broiled on embers red, The Indians often saw; And shell-fish, from their rocky bed, Were eaten roast or raw. Thus the Good Spirit kindly gave His bounteous store to Indian brave.

SUCCOTASH.

Though many viands Indians prized-- If served to people civilized, Would cause disdainful smile; Yet one nice dish of times by-gone, The succotash, or beans and corn, When cooked in Indian style,

To some, is thought a greater treat Than all the choicest joints of meat An epicure might choose; Poultry and game may both abound Where this delicious dish is found, I would all else refuse.

Give me no fish, nor barbecue; Pâté-de-fois, and oysters, too, Salads and sauces rich, May tempt an epicure to roam, But I had rather dine at home, On this, my favorite dish.

In early days, the bell would sound, Then olive plants would gather round, As fast as they were able, As soon as beans and corn were seen Within the goodly-sized tureen, In centre of the table.

We oft recall those happy times, ’Mid varied scenes, in distant climes, And memory lingers round, And brings to our enraptured view That blessed home--the garden, too, Where beans and corn abound.

And beans and corn do still abound, And succotash is often found Within our early home; With grateful hearts to God above, We often gather there in love Too soon again to roam.

CLOSE OF THE DAY.

’Tis twilight, and the glorious sun
Hath left his place on high;
And evening shadows have begun
To steal along the sky.

The swallow leaves the fields of air,
The busy bee the flower;
And farmers hasten home to share
The quiet of the hour.

Tho’ small in size, the cricket tries
His voice so shrill and strong,
And many a frog, from pond and bog,
Sends forth its croaking song.

Now we will call the children dear
To rest their wearied limbs,
And, as the time for bed draws near,
We’ll hear their evening hymns.

And then, Aunt Avis must not fail
To bring her stock of verse,
For in sweet rhyme a pleasant tale
She can for us rehearse.

And often, at the close of day,
We’ll think of this kind friend,
And ask for some instructive lay,
Which she has sweetly penned.

* * * * *

How pleasant it seems
To hear mamma say,
You’ve been very good,
My darling, to-day.

WONDERFUL INSTINCT OF THE ANT.

We visit an ant-hill, dear children, to-day. Come, witness the instinct these creatures display; “Consider their ways and be wise;” Thus spoke a wise king, in the Proverbs, you know, And though we’re no sluggards, I think if we go We’ll find a rich feast for our eyes.

One square foot of earth, though to us very small, To the ant is a kingdom. Each house has a hall, With chambers and passages lined; And thousands of homes in one square foot of ground, With swarms of these insects are frequently found, And such a one now we will find.

The ants’ mode of building we first will explain-- The earth being moistened with dew or with rain, Large swarms of these insects will meet; Each one takes a grain that you scarcely could see, And kneads it and moulds it as nice as can be, Then pats it down smooth with its feet.

These diligent builders thus work at their trade, Till hundreds and thousands of houses are made Beneath all these little mud balls; In these tiny ant-hills we see above ground Small buildings of full twenty stories are found, Supported by pillars and walls.

What wonderful instinct these creatures display In the care of their young on a damp rainy day, As they run from one room to another! And up stairs and down stairs they hasten again, As each little ant, to be kept from the rain, Must be carried up stairs by its mother.

When the clouds are dispersed, again they must run, These delicate ants could not bear the hot sun; And their mothers immediately go To move their dear children a few stories lower, And find them a room upon the ground floor, And give them their supper below.

Who teaches the ant her food to prepare, And store it in cells with such diligent care, That she all their wants may supply? ’Tis God, my dear child; he provides for them all, And each little insect, though ever so small, Is still in the reach of his eye.

The same tender parent who watches o’er you, Has guided the ant the whole summer through, And taught her her food to prepare; And when wintry frosts have quite covered the ground, The ant with her family safely is found, Still guarded and kept by his care.

LITTLE EDDIE.

The roving eye might vainly seek
A fairer to behold,
Than little Eddie’s rosy cheek,
When he was eight years old.

And those who love a merry glance,
No brighter eye had seen,
Nor lighter limb to skip and dance,
In meadow or in green.

But Edward’s charms of better kind,
With more delight I praise,
For sweet and gentle was his mind,
And pleasant all his ways.

No angry passions, fierce and wild,
No evil thought or plan,
Had place in this beloved child,
Throughout his little span.

In health and strength he grew, till came
His ninth revolving year,
Then sickness seized his little frame,
And suffering most severe.

For many a month upon his bed,
His feverish hands were laid,
Nor could he raise his aching head
Without his mother’s aid.

Yet patient lay the little boy,
And no repining word,
Or fretful wish for other’s joy,
From Edward’s lip was heard.

Though gentle summer came and strewed
Fresh beauties o’er the earth,
He went not to the field or wood
To share his playmates’ mirth.

Though winter, from the frozen north,
Brought ice and snow along,
Yet little Edward went not forth
To join the merry throng.

The rose departed from his cheek,
The brightness from his eye,
And then his spirit fled to seek
Its Father in the sky;

Who, in his love, from pain and strife
Such little ones doth take,
And give them endless light and life,
For our Redeemer’s sake.

His body to the earth was given,
And rests beneath the sod,
But Eddie’s spirit went to heaven,
To join in praising God.

Long will his many friends approve
His manners, sweet and mild,
And tell his innocence and love
To many a listening child.

His mother’s heart the sad, the sweet
Remembrance doth employ,
And full her trust in heaven to meet
Her blessed little boy.

FAITHFUL FIDO.

An emblem of faithfulness
Here you behold,
As Fido is carefully
Guarding the gold.

How eager he watches
For danger around;
So, true to your trust,
May you ever be found!

LITTLE MARY AND HER WICKED FATHER.

“What shall I do? What shall I do?” the wicked father said, As in agony of spirit he rose up from his bed, And earnestly entreated his wife to kneel and pray; Alas! dear Mary’s mother had ne’er been taught the way.

“I cannot pray, dear husband,” the trembling wife replied. “Oh, then, what can I do?” in bitterness he cried. “Perhaps,” she said, “our Mary has learned to say her prayers, She seems so good and holy.” He hastened up the stairs

Where slept that young disciple, a child of seven years; Her father gently woke her, then, bursting into tears, He said, “O, can you pray, my child; has Jesus taught you how? And will you try to pray for your poor father, now?”

She knelt, put up her little hands, “Our Father up in heaven,” She sweetly said, “for Jesus’ sake, let father be forgiven; Have mercy, blessed Savior, wash all his sins away, And send thy Holy Spirit to teach him how to pray.”

That father rose in penitence, sweet thoughts within him stirred, A yearning, warm desire to hear from God’s own Word Those precious truths she thus had lisped in accents sweet and mild; He placed the Bible in her hand; “Take this and read my child.”

She read the holy Book, and, at that midnight hour, God sent his blessed Spirit to seal it home with power; Those sweet words of the loving John, that “all who look may live,”[4] He heard, and said, “Dear Mary, can Jesus now forgive?”

“Oh listen, father! ‘God _so_ loved,’ he sent his only Son, And all who now believe on that dear, blessed One, The Lamb of God, shall never die, shall have their sins forgiven, And he will take them home at last, to dwell with him in heaven.”

“That is for me!” he cried; “for sinners just like me; I will look up to Jesus now,--Savior, I come to thee; I hear those blessed words, ‘Come unto me and live;’ I can believe,--I do believe! Dear Jesus now forgive.”

Yes, look to Christ, believing one, he whispers now you may. He heard, and went, from that glad hour, rejoicing on his way.

SALLIE M----.

I knew a lass, but quite too long Was her whole name to weave in song, But, lest a change she should condemn, We’ll only call her Sarah M----.

Now, from her youth, this damsel’s mind Was most industriously inclined; No little girl could sew, or hem, Or stitch, or mend, like Sarah M----.

Her father had not wealth to spare, And many children claimed his care, So little Sarah early learned, That her own living must be earned.

Yet no complaining Sallie made, That she must work while others played, But set about with right good will, The task her fingers should fulfil.

Though aching head and weary sight Were sometimes hers, her heart was light, And equal was her well-earned store, For clothes to wear, and even more.

Thus, while from day to day she drew Her ready needle through and through, She gained far more than worldly pelf, She learned to commune with herself.

And this communion, deep and still, Soon led her heart to know its ill, And ask her Maker to impart, For Jesus’ sake, a holy heart.

Now, had she spent in early days, Her time in idleness and plays, At work repining, sought her joys With careless girls and idle boys--

Her after years had never known The independence now her own; Perhaps those wasted hours had even Dispelled the thoughts which turned to heaven.

But care and industry are found, With, heaven and earth’s best blessing crown’d And those who truly value them, Should early do like Sarah M----.

THE PROUD GIRL.

JANE.

What makes you wear that muslin dress,
And such a strong, coarse leather shoe,
With cotton stockings, cambric gloves,
And such a coarse straw bonnet, too?

See here! my shoes are real kid;
Just look at them--see how they shine;
My stocking’s silk, my bonnet’s new,
And only see the straw, how fine!

Why, I should fret myself to death,
If I were dressed as mean as you;
I always cry and tease mamma
For everything I see that’s new.

MARY.

What! cry and tease your dear mamma
For finery? That would not I;
I would not grieve her for the world,
And she would grieve to see me cry.

She gives me everything she can,
And that is everything I want;
And I should be a wicked child,
To ask for more than she could grant.

But, Jane, from what you say yourself,
You’re never happy, and your pride
Is such, that, with this finery,
You never are quite satisfied.

JANE.

But what if there should be a ball,
And you should have a chance to go,
Where every one is richly dressed,
Would you appear among them so?

MARY.

A ball! I never went to one;
I do not care for scenes so gay;
But with the birds and trees and flowers,
I can be happy any day.

When dear papa comes home at night,
I’m joyous as a little bird,
For, after tea, he always tells
Something amusing he has heard.

You ought to see our pleasant home,
Dear Jennie, then you would not say,
That I, from this dear, happy group,
Could often wish to be away.

Sometimes, he brings us home a book,
Then, after supper, down we sit,
He reads to us, while dear mamma
Takes out her work to sew or knit.

Then he will read some wondrous tale,
How mighty nations rose and fell,
And sometimes lay aside the book,
And some amusing story tell.

How some have climbed the highest hill,
And yet have murmur’d all the way,
While others walk along the vale,
As pleasant as a summer’s day.

“My children,” he will often say,
“You know I cannot give you wealth;
But you have riches dearer far,
And these are innocence and health.

“While thus you live in peace and love,
Contented with the blessings given,
And grateful to your God, I trust
He’ll fit you for the joys of heaven.”

Then, ere we go to bed at night,
We kneel together while he prays
That God would fill our hearts with love,
And help us serve him all our days.

But see! while I stand talking here,
The cars are in--papa has come!
Now you may go and dance at balls,
But I’ll enjoy myself at home.

WILLIE’S FEARS.