Types of Children's Literature Part 5

THE WHOLE DUTY OF CHILDREN

A child should always say what's true And speak when he is spoken to, And behave mannerly at table; At least as far as he is able.

MY BED IS A BOAT

My bed is like a little boat; Nurse helps me in when I embark; She girds me in my sailor's coat And starts me in the dark.

At night, I go on board and say Good night to all my friends on sh.o.r.e; I shut my eyes and sail away, And see and hear no more.

And sometimes things to bed I take, As prudent sailors have to do; Perhaps a slice of wedding cake, Perhaps a toy or two.

All night across the dark we steer; But when the day returns at last, Safe in my room, beside the pier, I find my vessel fast.

THE LAND OF COUNTERPANE

When I was sick and lay abed, I had two pillows at my head, And all my toys beside me lay To keep me happy all the day.

And sometimes for an hour or so I watched my leaden soldiers go, With different uniforms and drills, Among the bedclothes, through the hills;

And sometimes sent my s.h.i.+ps in fleets All up and down among the sheets; Or brought my trees and houses out, And planted cities all about.

I was the giant great and still That sits upon the pillow hill, And sees before him, dale and plain, The pleasant land of counterpane.

THE LAND OF STORYBOOKS

At evening when the lamp is lit, Around the fire my parents sit; They sit at home and talk and sing, And do not play at anything.

Now, with my little gun, I crawl All in the dark along the wall, And follow round the forest track Away behind the sofa back.

There, in the night, where none can spy, All in my hunter's camp I lie, And play at books that I have read Till it is time to go to bed.

These are the hills, these are the woods, These are my starry solitudes; And there the river by whose brink The roaring lions come to drink.

I see the others far away As if in firelit camp they lay, And I, like to an Indian scout, Around their party prowled about.

So, when my nurse comes in for me, Home I return across the sea, And go to bed with backward looks At my dear Land of Storybooks.

LUCY LARCOM

IF I WERE A SUNBEAM

"If I were a sunbeam, I know what I'd do; I would seek white lilies, Rainy woodlands through.

I would steal among them, Softest light I'd shed, Until every lily Raised its drooping head.

"If I were a sunbeam, I know where I'd go; Into lowliest hovels, Dark with want and woe: Till sad hearts looked upward, I would s.h.i.+ne and s.h.i.+ne; Then they'd think of heaven, Their sweet home and mine."

Art thou not a sunbeam, Child, whose life is glad With an inner radiance Suns.h.i.+ne never had?

O, as G.o.d hath blessed thee, Scatter rays divine!

For there is no sunbeam But must die or s.h.i.+ne.

THE RIVULET

Run, little rivulet, run!

Summer is fairly begun.

Bear to the meadow the hymn of the pines, And the echo that rings where the waterfall s.h.i.+nes; Run, little rivulet, run!

Run, little rivulet, run!

Sing to the fields of the sun That wavers in emerald, s.h.i.+mmers in gold, Where you glide from your rocky ravine, crystal cold; Run, little rivulet, run!

Run, little rivulet, run!

Sing of the flowers, every one,-- Of the delicate harebell and violet blue; Of the red mountain rosebud, all dripping with dew; Run, little rivulet, run!

Run, little rivulet, run!

Carry the perfume you won From the lily, that woke when the morning was gray, To the white waiting moonbeam adrift on the bay; Run, little rivulet, run!

Run, little rivulet, run!

Stay not till summer is done!

Carry the city the mountain birds' glee; Carry the joy of the hills to the sea; Run, little rivulet, run!

THE BROWN THRUSH

There's a merry brown thrush sitting up in the tree.

He's singing to me! He's singing to me!

And what does he say, little girl, little boy?

"Oh, the world's running over with joy!

Don't you hear? Don't you see?

Hus.h.!.+ Look! In my tree I'm as happy as happy can be!"