 | Poetry for children |  |
30
Mother and Boy.
A DIALOGUE IN THE FIELDS.
Come forth,—come forth, 'tis the time of joy,
Bright summer is out, in the vales, my boy,
Through its lillied bed, see the clear brook glide,
And the white lamb sport by its mother's side,
And the butterfly spread out a golden wing,
And the bees to the honey blossoms sing,
And the grasshopper leap 'mid the new-mown hay,
So, we, my child, will be happy as they.
Bright summer is out, in the vales, my boy,
Through its lillied bed, see the clear brook glide,
And the white lamb sport by its mother's side,
And the butterfly spread out a golden wing,
And the bees to the honey blossoms sing,
And the grasshopper leap 'mid the new-mown hay,
So, we, my child, will be happy as they.
Sweet words
Speak the birds
From the tree;
Mother! teach
Their speech
Unto me.
Speak the birds
From the tree;
Mother! teach
Their speech
Unto me.
Of love they sing when they build their nest,
Of love when they soar o'er the mountain's breast,
Or nurture their young in their green retreat,
This makes their music to us so sweet.
And who can say but their warblings rise
To our Father's ears in yon beautiful skies?
Yet nobler, boy, than their highest lays,
Is the language of man and the voice of praise.
Of love when they soar o'er the mountain's breast,
Or nurture their young in their green retreat,
This makes their music to us so sweet.
31
To our Father's ears in yon beautiful skies?
Yet nobler, boy, than their highest lays,
Is the language of man and the voice of praise.
Mother's eye
Like the sky
Shines bright,
Such beams
To my dreams
Give light.
Like the sky
Shines bright,
Such beams
To my dreams
Give light.
There's a smile on the earth and the waters mild,
For the heart of a good and a happy child,
And the sighing leaves on the wind-rock'd limb
Will lull him to sleep like a cradle-hymn;
While Nature, with pencil of rain-bow dye,
Writes the name of God for his waking eye.
Remember him, babe, in thy day of care,
At morn, and at night, in thy simple prayer,
Breathe the incense of childhood, fresh and free,
And he in thine age will remember thee.
For the heart of a good and a happy child,
And the sighing leaves on the wind-rock'd limb
Will lull him to sleep like a cradle-hymn;
While Nature, with pencil of rain-bow dye,
Writes the name of God for his waking eye.
Remember him, babe, in thy day of care,
At morn, and at night, in thy simple prayer,
Breathe the incense of childhood, fresh and free,
And he in thine age will remember thee.
| Poetry for children | |