"LITTLE Sparrow, come and say
What you're doing all the day?"
"O, I fly over hedges and ditches to find.
A fat little worm, or a fly to my mind;
And I carry it back to my own pretty nest
And the dear little pets that I warm with my breast;
For until I can teach them the way how to fly,
If I were not to feed them, my darlings would die:
How glad they all are when they see me come home! And each of them chirps, Give me some! Give me some!""
6
"Little Lamb, come here and say
What you're doing all the day?"
Long enough before you wake,
Breakfast I am glad to take,
In the meadow eating up
Daisy, cowslip, buttercup;
Then about the fields I play,
Frisk and scamper all the day;
When I'm thirsty I can drink
Water at the river's brink;
When at night I go to sleep,
By my mother I must keep;
I am safe enough from cold
At her side within the fold."
"Little Bee, come here and say
What you're doing all the day?"
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"O, every day, and all day long,
Among the flowers you hear my song:
I creep in every bud I see,
And all the honey is for me;
I take it to the hive with care
And give it to my brothers there,
That when the winter time comes on,
And all the flowers are dead and gone,
And when the wind is cold and rough,
The busy bees may have enough.'
""
"Little Fly, come here and say
What you 're doing all the day?"
"O, I am a gay and merry fly,
I never do anything no, - not I.
I go where I like, and I stay where I please,
In the heat of sun, or the shade of the trees;
On the window-pane, or the cupboard shelf;
And I care for nothing except myself:
I cannot tell, it is very true,
When the winter comes what I mean to do;
And I very much fear, when I'm getting old,
I shall starve with hunger, or die of cold."
RHYMES FOR LITTLE ONES.
Is this a time to be cloudy and sad,
When our mother Nature laughs around;
When even the deep blue heavens look glad,
And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground?
There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren,
And the gossip of swallows through all the sky;
The ground-squirrel gayly chirps by his den,
And the wilding bee hums merrily by.
The clouds are at play in the azure space,
And their shadows at play on the bright green vale ;
And here they stretch to the frolic chase,
And there they roll on the easy gale.
There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower;
There's a titter of wind in that beechen tree;
There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower,
And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea.
And look at the broad faced sun, how he smiles
On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray,
On the breaking waters and gay young isles ;-
Ay, look! and he'll smile thy gloom away.
I WOULD not be an eagle fierce,
With nest upon a rock,
Stealing the harmless little lambs
From the poor shepherd's flock.
I would not be a moping owl,
Snoring in bed all day,
And pouncing on the mice at night,
When they come out to play.
No I would be a lark, and mount
From the daisy-spangled sod,
With twinkling wings to Heaven's gate,
Singing the praise of God.
HERE I come, creeping, creeping everywhere:
By the dusty road-side,
On the sunny hill-side,
Close by the noisy brook,
In every shady nook,
I come creeping, creeping everywhere.
Here I come, creeping, creeping everywhere:
All around the open door,
Where sit the aged poor,
There where the children play,
In the bright and merry May,
I come creeping, creeping everywhere.
Here I come, creeping, creeping everywhere:
In the noisy city street
My pleasant face you'll meet,
Cheering the sick at heart,
Toiling his busy part,
Silently creeping, creeping everywhere.
Here I come, creeping, creeping everywhere:
You cannot see me coming,
Nor hear my low sweet humming,
For in the starry night,
. And the glad morning light,
I come quietly, creeping everywhere.
Here I come, creeping, creeping everywhere:
More welcome than the flowers,
In summer's pleasant hours.
The gentle cow is glad,
And the merry bird not sad
To see me creeping, creeping everywhere.
Here I come, creeping, creeping everywhere:
When you 're numbered with the dead,
In your still and narrow bed,
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