Types of Children's Literature Part 6

And the brown thrush keeps singing, "A nest do you see, And five eggs, hid by me in the juniper tree?

Don't meddle! Don't touch! little girl, little boy, Or the world will lose some of its joy!

Now I'm glad! now I'm free!

And I always shall be, If you never bring sorrow to me."

So the merry brown thrush sings away in the tree, To you and to me, to you and to me; And he sings all the day, little girl, little boy, "Oh, the world's running over with joy!

But long it won't be, Don't you know? don't you see?

Unless we are as good as can be!"

ANN AND JANE TAYLOR

MEDDLESOME MATTY

One ugly trick has often spoiled The sweetest and the best: Matilda, though a pleasant child, One grievous fault possessed, Which, like a cloud before the skies, Hid all her better qualities.

Sometimes she'd lift the teapot lid To peep at what was in it; Or tilt the kettle, if you did But turn your back a minute.

In vain you told her not to touch, Her trick of meddling grew so much.

Her grandmamma went out one day And by mistake she laid Her spectacles and snuffbox gay Too near the little maid.

"Ah! well," thought she, "I'll try them on As soon as grandmamma is gone."

Forthwith she placed upon her nose The gla.s.ses large and wide; And looking round, as I suppose, The snuffbox too she spied: "Oh! what a pretty box is that; I'll open it," said little Matt.

"I know that grandmamma would say, 'Don't meddle with it, dear'; But then, she's far enough away, And no one else is near.

Besides, what can there be amiss In opening such a box as this?"

So thumb and finger went to work To move the stubborn lid, And presently a mighty jerk The mighty mischief did; For all at once, ah! woeful case.

The snuff came puffing in her face.

Poor eyes and nose and mouth, beside, A dismal sight presented; In vain, as bitterly she cried, Her folly she repented; In vain she ran about for ease, She could do nothing now but sneeze.

She dashed the spectacles away To wipe her tingling eyes, And as in twenty bits they lay, Her grandmamma she spies.

"Heyday! and what's the matter now?"

Says grandmamma with lifted brow.

Matilda, smarting with the pain, And tingling still, and sore, Made many a promise to refrain From meddling evermore.

And 'tis a fact, as I have heard, She ever since has kept her word.

THE VIOLET

Down in a green and shady bed A modest violet grew, Its stalk was bent, it hung its head, As if to hide from view.

And yet it was a lovely flower, Its color bright and fair; It might have graced a rosy bower Instead of hiding there.

Yet there it was content to bloom, In modest tints arrayed; And there diffused a sweet perfume Within the silent shade.--

Then let me to the valley go This pretty flower to see, That I may also learn to grow In sweet humility.

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 s.h.i.+nes upon, Then you show your little light, Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.

Then the traveler 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 traveler in the dark, Though I know not what you are, Twinkle, twinkle, little star.

THE WAY TO BE HAPPY

How pleasant it is at the end of the day, No follies to have to repent,

But reflect on the past and be able to say, My time has been properly spent!

When I've done all my business with patience and care, And been good, and obliging, and kind, I lie on my pillow and sleep away there, With a happy and peaceable mind.

Instead of all this, if it must be confest, That I careless and idle have been, I lie down as usual, and go to my rest, But feel discontented within.

Then as I dislike all the trouble I've had, In future I'll try to prevent it, For I never am naughty without being sad, Or good--without being contented.

ISAAC WATTS

AGAINST IDLENESS AND MISCHIEF