Rhymes for the nursery By the authors of "Original Poems" [i.e. Ann Taylor]. Twenty-seventeenth edition |
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Dutiful Jem.
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 | Rhymes for the nursery |  |
Dutiful Jem.
There was a poor widow, who lived in a cot,
She scarcely a blanket to warm her had got;
Her windows were broken, her walls were all bare,
And the cold winter-wind often whistled in there.
She scarcely a blanket to warm her had got;
Her windows were broken, her walls were all bare,
And the cold winter-wind often whistled in there.
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Poor Susan was old, and too feeble to spin,
Her forehead was wrinkled, her hands they were thin;
And she must have starved, as so many have done,
If she had not been bless'd with a good little son.
Her forehead was wrinkled, her hands they were thin;
And she must have starved, as so many have done,
If she had not been bless'd with a good little son.
But he loved her well, like a dutiful lad;
He thought her the very best friend that he had;
And now to neglect or forsake her, he knew,
Was the most wicked thing he could possibly do.
He thought her the very best friend that he had;
And now to neglect or forsake her, he knew,
Was the most wicked thing he could possibly do.
For he was quite healthy, and active, and stout,
While his poor mother hardly could hobble about,
And he thought it his duty and greatest delight,
To work for her living from morning to night.
While his poor mother hardly could hobble about,
And he thought it his duty and greatest delight,
To work for her living from morning to night.
So he went ev'ry morning, as gay as a lark,
And work'd all day long in the fields till 'twas dark;
Then came home again to his dear mother's cot,
And joyfully gave her the wages he got.
And work'd all day long in the fields till 'twas dark;
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And joyfully gave her the wages he got.
And oh, how she loved him! how great was her joy!
To think her dear Jem was a dutiful boy:
Her arm round his neck she would tenderly cast,
And kiss his red cheek, while the tears trickled fast.
To think her dear Jem was a dutiful boy:
Her arm round his neck she would tenderly cast,
And kiss his red cheek, while the tears trickled fast.
Oh, then, was not little Jem happier far,
Than naughty, and idle, and wicked boys are?
For, as long as he lived, 'twas his comfort and joy,
To think he'd not been an undutiful boy.
Than naughty, and idle, and wicked boys are?
For, as long as he lived, 'twas his comfort and joy,
To think he'd not been an undutiful boy.
| Rhymes for the nursery | |