Hymns, Songs, and Fables, for Young People Part 4

Up to the highest ever press, Still onward, upward, higher! higher!

Make such thy purpose, such thy aim, That they who watch thy spirit's flight Shall look to heaven from whence it came, And loose thee in celestial light.

SONGS.

THE LITTLE SPRING.

Beneath a green and mossy bank There flows a clear and fairy stream; There the pert squirrel oft has drank, And thought, perhaps, 'twas made for him.

Their pitchers there the laborers fill, As drop by drop the crystals flow, Singing their silvery welcome still To all who to the fountain go.

Then to the river on it glides, Its tributary drop to bear, Its modest head a moment hides, Then rises up and sparkles there.

The touching lesson on my heart Falls like the gentle dews of heaven, Bids me with humble love impart The little treasure G.o.d has given.

For from a source as small as this Full many a cup of joy may flow, And on the stream of human bliss Its little ray of gladness throw.

THE LITTLE BOY'S MAY-DAY SONG.

"The flowers are blooming everywhere, On every hill and dell, And O, how beautiful they are!

How sweetly, too, they smell!

"The little brooks, they dance along, And look so glad and gay; I love to hear their pleasant song, I feel as glad as they.

"The young lambs bleat and frisk about, The bees hum round their hive, The b.u.t.terflies are coming out,-- 'Tis good to be alive.

"The trees that looked so stiff and gray With green wreaths now are hung; O mother! let me laugh and play, I cannot hold my tongue.

"See yonder bird spread out his wings, And mount the clear blue skies; And hark! how merrily he sings, As far away he flies."

"Go forth, my child, and laugh and play, And let your cheerful voice, With birds, and brooks, and merry May, Cry loud, Rejoice! rejoice!

"I would not check your bounding mirth, My little happy boy, For He who made this blooming earth Smiles on an infant's joy."

GUESS WHAT I HAVE HEARD.

Dear mother, guess what I have heard!

O, it will soon be spring!

I'm sure it was a little bird,-- Mother, I heard him sing.

Look at this little piece of green That peeps out from the snow, As if it wanted to be seen,-- 'Twill soon be spring, I know.

And O, come here, come here and look!

How fast it runs along!-- Here is a cunning little brook; O, hear its pretty song!

I know 'tis glad the winter's gone That kept it all so still, For now it merrily runs on, And goes just where it will.

I feel just like the brook, I know; It says, it seems to me,-- "Good by, cold weather, ice, and snow; Now girls and brooks are free."

I love to think of what you said, Mother, to me last night, Of this great world that G.o.d has made, So beautiful and bright.

And now it is the happy spring No naughty thing I'll do; I would not be the only thing That is not happy, too.

SPRING.

Hark! the little birds are singing,-- Winter's gone and summer's near; See, the tender gra.s.s is springing, And the flowers will soon be here.

Who made the winter and the spring?

Who painted all the flowers?

Who taught the little birds to sing, And made these hearts of ours?

O, 'tis G.o.d! how good he is!

He does every blessing give; All this happy world is his,-- Let us love him while we live.

THE LITTLE BOY'S GOOD-NIGHT.

The sun is hidden from our sight, The birds are sleeping sound; 'Tis time to say to all, "Good night!"

And give a kiss all round.

Good night! my father, mother, dear, Now kiss your little son; Good night! my friends, both far and near, Good night to every one.

Good night! ye merry, merry birds, Sleep well till morning light; Perhaps if you could sing in words, You would have said, "Good night!"

To all my pretty flowers, good night!

You blossom while I sleep; And all the stars, that s.h.i.+ne so bright, With you their watches keep.

The moon is lighting up the skies, The stars are sparkling there; 'Tis time to shut our weary eyes, And say our evening prayer.

THE SHEPHERD'S SABBATH-SONG.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.

This is the Sabbath day!

In the wide field I am alone.

Hark! now one morning bell's sweet tone,-- Now it has died away.

Kneeling I wors.h.i.+p Thee; Sweet dread doth o'er my spirit steal, From whispering sounds of those who kneel, Unseen, to pray with me.

Around and far away, So clear and solemn is the sky, It seems all opening to my eye; This is the Sabbath day!