 | Original Poems for My Children |  |
SUNDAY IN THE COUNTRY.
The spotted horse is put away,
The hoop, and kite, and top, and ball;
For 'tis the holy Sabbath day,
When Christians go to church, and pray
To God, who loveth all.
The hoop, and kite, and top, and ball;
For 'tis the holy Sabbath day,
When Christians go to church, and pray
To God, who loveth all.
To-day the doll is put aside,
The story-books placed out of sight;
For we must seek a holier guide,
And read how Christ the Saviour died
For us on Calvary's height.
The story-books placed out of sight;
For we must seek a holier guide,
And read how Christ the Saviour died
For us on Calvary's height.
The creaking waggon's in the shed,
The busy flail is heard no more;
The horse is littered down and fed,
The harness hangs above his head,
The whip behind the door.
The busy flail is heard no more;
The horse is littered down and fed,
The harness hangs above his head,
The whip behind the door.
His leathern gloves and hookëd bill
To-day the woodman throws aside;
The blacksmith's fiery forge is still;
The wocden wheel of the old mill
Sleeps in the mill-dam wide.
To-day the woodman throws aside;
The blacksmith's fiery forge is still;
The wocden wheel of the old mill
Sleeps in the mill-dam wide.
The miller's boat is anchored, where
Far out, the water lilies sleep,
You see their shadows mirrored there,
The broad white flowers reflected clear
Within the mill-pool deep.
Far out, the water lilies sleep,
You see their shadows mirrored there,
The broad white flowers reflected clear
Within the mill-pool deep.
The barrow's in the garden shed,
Hoe, rake, and spade, are put away;
Unweeded stands the onion bed,
The gardener from his work hath fled,
This holy Sabbath day.
Hoe, rake, and spade, are put away;
Unweeded stands the onion bed,
The gardener from his work hath fled,
This holy Sabbath day.
Upon the wall the white cat sleeps,
By which the churns and milk pans lie;
A drowsy watch the house-dog keeps,
And scarcely from his dull eye peeps
Upon the passer-by.
By which the churns and milk pans lie;
A drowsy watch the house-dog keeps,
And scarcely from his dull eye peeps
Upon the passer-by.
And sweetly over hill and dale
The silvery-sounding church bells ring;
Across the moor and down the dale
They come and go, and on the gale
Their Sabbath tidings fling.
The silvery-sounding church bells ring;
Across the moor and down the dale
They come and go, and on the gale
Their Sabbath tidings fling.
From where the whitewashed Sunday-school
Peeps out between the poplars dim,
Which ever throw their shadows cool
Far out upon the rushy pool,
You hear the Sabbath hymn.
Peeps out between the poplars dim,
Which ever throw their shadows cool
Far out upon the rushy pool,
You hear the Sabbath hymn.
From farm and field, and grange grown grey;
From woodland walks and winding ways,
The old and young, the grave and gay,
Unto the old church come to pray,
And sing God's holy praise.
From woodland walks and winding ways,
The old and young, the grave and gay,
Unto the old church come to pray,
And sing God's holy praise.
For the great God himself did say,
Thou shalt rest one day out of seven;
And set apart that holy day
To worship Me, and sing, and pray,
If thou wouldst enter Heaven.
Thou shalt rest one day out of seven;
And set apart that holy day
To worship Me, and sing, and pray,
If thou wouldst enter Heaven.
THE MOTHER TO HER INFANT.
Slumber, my darling, no danger is near,
Thy mother sits by thee to guard thy repose;
Though the wind roars aloud, not a breath reaches here,
To shake the white curtains which round thee do close:
Then slumber, my darling, and sleep without fear,
Thou art safe from all danger, my dearest, while here.
Thy mother sits by thee to guard thy repose;
Though the wind roars aloud, not a breath reaches here,
To shake the white curtains which round thee do close:
Then slumber, my darling, and sleep without fear,
Thou art safe from all danger, my dearest, while here.
What is it the angels do unto thee say,
When thou dost lie smiling so sweet in thy sleep?
Are they trying, my sweetest, to lure thee away,
And leave me alone in my sorrow to weep?
Oh! sometimes I fancy they whisper thy name,
And would fain bear thee back to the land whence they came.
When thou dost lie smiling so sweet in thy sleep?
Are they trying, my sweetest, to lure thee away,
And leave me alone in my sorrow to weep?
And would fain bear thee back to the land whence they came.
Then never, my darling, when thou growest old,
Forget her who on thy sweet infancy smiled,
To whom thou wert dearer than jewels or gold,
Who studied thy looks and thy wishes, my child,—
Who, when thou didst need her, was never away
In health or in sickness, by night or by day.
Forget her who on thy sweet infancy smiled,
To whom thou wert dearer than jewels or gold,
Who studied thy looks and thy wishes, my child,—
Who, when thou didst need her, was never away
In health or in sickness, by night or by day.
THE SPRING WALK.
We had a pleasant walk to day
Over the meadows and far away,
Across the bridge by the water-mill,
By the woodside, and up the hill;
And if you listen to what I say,
I'll tell you what we saw to day.
Over the meadows and far away,
Across the bridge by the water-mill,
By the woodside, and up the hill;
And if you listen to what I say,
I'll tell you what we saw to day.
Amid a hedge, where the first leaves
Were peeping from their sheaths so sly,
We saw four eggs within a nest,
And they were blue as a summer sky.
Were peeping from their sheaths so sly,
We saw four eggs within a nest,
And they were blue as a summer sky.
An elder-branch dipped in the brook,
We wondered why it moved, and found
A silken-haired smooth water-rat
Nibbling, and swimming round and round.
We wondered why it moved, and found
A silken-haired smooth water-rat
Nibbling, and swimming round and round.
Where daisies opened to the sun,
In a broad meadow, green and white,
The lambs were racing eagerly—
We never saw a prettier sight.
In a broad meadow, green and white,
The lambs were racing eagerly—
We never saw a prettier sight.
We saw upon the shady banks
Long rows of golden flowers shine,
And first mistook for buttercups
The star-shaped yellow celandine.
Long rows of golden flowers shine,
And first mistook for buttercups
The star-shaped yellow celandine.
Anemones and primroses,
And the blue violets of spring,
We found, while listening by a hedge
To hear a merry ploughman sing.
And the blue violets of spring,
We found, while listening by a hedge
To hear a merry ploughman sing.
And from the earth the plough turned up,
There came a sweet refreshing smell,
Such as the lily of the vale
Sends forth from many a woodland dell.
There came a sweet refreshing smell,
Such as the lily of the vale
Sends forth from many a woodland dell.
We saw the yellow wall-flower wave
Upon a mouldering castle wall,
And then we watched the busy rooks
Among the ancient elm-trees tall.
Upon a mouldering castle wall,
And then we watched the busy rooks
Among the ancient elm-trees tall.
And leaning from the old stone bridge,
Below we saw our shadows lie,
And through the gloomy arches watched
The swift and fearless swallows fly.
Below we saw our shadows lie,
And through the gloomy arches watched
The swift and fearless swallows fly.
We heard the speckle-breasted lark
As it sang somewhere out of sight,
And tried to find it, but the sky
Was filled with clouds of dazzling light.
As it sang somewhere out of sight,
And tried to find it, but the sky
Was filled with clouds of dazzling light.
We saw young rabbits near the wood,
And heard a pheasant's wings go “whirr,”
And then we saw a squirrel leap
From an old oak tree to a fir.
And heard a pheasant's wings go “whirr,”
And then we saw a squirrel leap
From an old oak tree to a fir.
And many pretty birds we saw,
Which had come o'er the stormy main,
To build their nests, and rear their young,
And sing in our old woods again.
Which had come o'er the stormy main,
To build their nests, and rear their young,
And sing in our old woods again.
We came back by the village fields,
A pleasant walk it was across 'em,
For all behind the houses lay
The orchards red and white with blossom.
A pleasant walk it was across 'em,
For all behind the houses lay
The orchards red and white with blossom.
Were I to tell you all we saw,
I'm sure that it would take me hours;
For the whole landscape was alive
With bees, and birds, and buds, and flowers.
I'm sure that it would take me hours;
For the whole landscape was alive
With bees, and birds, and buds, and flowers.
THE GOLDEN-CRESTED WREN.
The smallest bird that can be found,
If you search all England round,
Everywhere through glade and glen,
Is the golden-crested wren.
If you search all England round,
Everywhere through glade and glen,
Is the golden-crested wren.
Though little, 'tis a brave bird too,
And stays with us the winter through;
Goes picking here, and hopping there,
And never leaves us all the year.
When it freezes, when it snows,
When it thaws, and when it blows,
You still see its little form
Tossed about upon the storm;
Rumpled, crumpled every feather,
And all backward blown together,
While it puffs, and pants, and draws
Together close its little claws
On some branch or mossy rail,
Turning to the wind its tail.
But if there be a hole at all,
It can get in—it is so small—
And shelter from the piercing cold
Its pretty head and crest of gold.
In spring it builds a little house,
Scarce larger than the harvest mouse;
And in it you'll find children five,
The size of bees, and all alive.
And for all these she must find bread,
From morning till 'tis time for bed.
And you will see this little wren,
Works harder far than many men,
Beginning when the dawn doth peep,
Nor ending till it's time to sleep.
Without a minute's pause or rest,
She carries food into her nest
Near forty times in every hour.
Through the sunshine and the shower
Food doth she to her young convey,
For sixteen hours through every day,
Without a moment's time to play.
Ever coming, ever going,
Never idle, always doing
This a bit, and that a taste;
Then she's off again in haste,
Across the field and by the mill,
Bringing something for each bill—
Bill wide-gaping every minute,
And she dropping something in it.
Such a hungry family
As a man doth seldom see;
Helpless, and without a feather,
Opening all their mouths together.
As soon as brought, the food is gone,
All the five a-gape like one.
She herself can't get a bit,
There is such a “twit, twit, twit.”
Though such a family she maintains,
Her weight is scarcely ninety grains:
No smaller bird can there be found,
If you search all England round.
And stays with us the winter through;
Goes picking here, and hopping there,
And never leaves us all the year.
When it freezes, when it snows,
When it thaws, and when it blows,
You still see its little form
Tossed about upon the storm;
Rumpled, crumpled every feather,
And all backward blown together,
While it puffs, and pants, and draws
Together close its little claws
On some branch or mossy rail,
Turning to the wind its tail.
But if there be a hole at all,
It can get in—it is so small—
And shelter from the piercing cold
Its pretty head and crest of gold.
In spring it builds a little house,
Scarce larger than the harvest mouse;
And in it you'll find children five,
The size of bees, and all alive.
And for all these she must find bread,
From morning till 'tis time for bed.
And you will see this little wren,
Works harder far than many men,
Beginning when the dawn doth peep,
Nor ending till it's time to sleep.
Without a minute's pause or rest,
She carries food into her nest
Near forty times in every hour.
Through the sunshine and the shower
Food doth she to her young convey,
For sixteen hours through every day,
Without a moment's time to play.
Never idle, always doing
This a bit, and that a taste;
Then she's off again in haste,
Across the field and by the mill,
Bringing something for each bill—
Bill wide-gaping every minute,
And she dropping something in it.
Such a hungry family
As a man doth seldom see;
Helpless, and without a feather,
Opening all their mouths together.
As soon as brought, the food is gone,
All the five a-gape like one.
She herself can't get a bit,
There is such a “twit, twit, twit.”
Though such a family she maintains,
Her weight is scarcely ninety grains:
No smaller bird can there be found,
If you search all England round.
I'm sure that every girl or boy
Will usefully their time employ,
And be ashamed to idle, when
They've read about this little wren.
Will usefully their time employ,
And be ashamed to idle, when
They've read about this little wren.
| Original Poems for My Children | |