 | Poetry for children |  |
18
The Garden.
Come, dear little friend,
To the garden we'll go,
I've water'd my rose-plants,
Come see how they grow.
To the garden we'll go,
I've water'd my rose-plants,
Come see how they grow.
The first one that blossoms,
My mother's must be,
For as I watch these rose-buds,
She watch'd over me.
My mother's must be,
For as I watch these rose-buds,
She watch'd over me.
Here, here are some pinks
For your bosom and hair,
'Tis the pencil of Heaven,
That hath dy'd them so fair.
For your bosom and hair,
'Tis the pencil of Heaven,
That hath dy'd them so fair.
How thick the young violets
Spring up at our feet,
Let us love the kind hand
That hath made them so sweet.
Spring up at our feet,
Let us love the kind hand
That hath made them so sweet.
Is it time for our school?
Then we will thither repair,
And the smile of our teachers
Will welcome us there.
Then we will thither repair,
And the smile of our teachers
Will welcome us there.
| Poetry for children | |