Rhymes for childhood :: :: University of Virginia Library

Rhymes for childhood

by John Swain

Swain, Charles (1801-1874)

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

THE COW.

Pretty cow you look so mild,
That I think a little child,
Safely near to you might pass,
As you feed upon the grass.

When you lie upon the green,
Where you often may be seen,
Then you look as much at rest,
As the bird upon its nest.

Very idle though you seem,
Yet you give us milk and cream,
Which we drink, or if we please,
Turn to butter, or to cheese.

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

LIGHT.

For the light so fair and free,
I should very thankful be;
If the warm sun gave no light,
Then it would be always night.

When the light of day is done,
When we leave the setting sun,
When the stars appear on high,
Then the hour of night is nigh.

Then we only see the gloom,
Then the rose can show no bloom,
Then the birds no longer sing,
Though it be the time of spring.

Then we cannot run and play,
Nor yet work as in the day;
If no light came from on high,
Every thing would fade and die.

If the fair sun gave no light,
There would be no beauty bright;
Therefore for the light so free,
I should very thankful be.

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

THE LADY BIRD.

In the field and in the wood,
By the streamlet and the flood,
On the hill and on the plain,
On the greensward in the lane,
In the summer time so fair,
Lady bird, thou rovest there.

Then those little wings of thine,
So transparent, thin and fine;
From their cases, red and bright,
Thou canst spread abroad in light,
And then rise and fly away,
In the summer time so gay.

But those little shining wings,
Are such thin and fragile things,
That to fly when needed not,
Soon they out of sight are got,—
Covered safely in their places,
With the pretty, spotted cases.

Little, pretty, lady bird,
Thou art comely, on my word!
No man liveth any where
That could make a thing so fair;
No one, but a hand divine,
Made that lovely form of thine.

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

MORNING IN SPRING.

What lovely colors paint the east,
And spread abroad on high!
Before the little stars have ceased
To twinkle in the sky.

And hark! there's music in the grove!
And music in the air!
Come let us in the meadow rove,
The time is sweet and fair.

See! there's a snowdrop!—pretty flower—
Appearing in the field,
Before the garden bush and bower
Their bloom and beauty yield.

See too—the yellow daffodil—
It grows beside the thorn;
And sky, and flower, and flowing rill,
The break of day adorn.

It is the sun that spreads abroad
The sky, the colors fair;
And 'tis the lark that fills with song,
The pleasant morning air.

The glory of the sun's bright look,
Hides all the stars from view;
And sparkles in the gentle brook,
And glitters in the dew.

It tunes the birds to song and mirth;
And warms the welcome showers;
It calls forth beauty from the earth,
And colors all the flowers—

And it is God who gives the sun,
And trees, and flowers so trim;
And all our blessings every one,—
Be thankful unto him.

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

VALUE OF GOODNESS.

Do like the good, and you will be
As happy as a king;
Do like the good, and misery
Your heart will never wring.

Do like the good in early youth,
In all you think and say;
And kindly think, and speak the truth,
And wise commands obey.

Do like the good, when morning light
To bless the land appears;
Pray then and at the verge of night
To God who kindly hears.

Do like the good in every place,
Wherever you may be,
And God will bless you with his grace,—
His grace for all is free.

Do like the good, and misery
Your heart will never wring;
But rich in goodness you will be,
And happy as a king.

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

BELLS RINGING.

Hark! what a sound!
Ding dong—ding dong;
Spreading all around,
Ding dong—ding dong:
Merry are the wavy swells
Coming from the village bells,
Spreading round
Such a sound,
Ding dong—ding dong.

Soft the sounds steal,
Softly,—ding dong;
Softer now the peal,
Like a faint song;
Louder now the music swells,
Coming from the village bells,
Spreading round
Such a sound,—
Ding dong—ding dong.

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

SUMMER TIME.

When spring comes to see us again,
The winter is over and gone;
The hill, and the slope, and the plain,
The sun shineth warmly upon.

When hay-makers work in the hay,
The days are delightful and long;
For then it is summer time gay,—
The season of beauty and song.

Then fair is the beauty of morn,
And sweet is the pleasant perfume;
When blossom is white on the thorn,
And roses so red, are in bloom.

And then shall the good temper'd child,
Where pleasure pervadeth the clime,
When nature is lovely and mild,
Be blest with the joy of the time.

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

THE DOG.

The dog can jump and play,
And make a deal of fun;
I bid him walk away;
I bid him hither run:
When told, away he goes,
When call'd, returns with glee;
But why, he never knows,
He cannot think like me.

The dog can make a noise;
When angry he will bark;
He barks his song of joys,
When happy as a lark;
Will run away with speed,
A friendly dog to see;
But cannot spell, and read,
And write in books like me.

The dog can drive the sheep,
By barking on the way;
And watch at home can keep,
When fast asleep we lay;
Yet knows not what is right,
Nor what is wrong knows he;
He could not make a kite,
Or spin a top like me.

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

PLAYFUL SARAH.

It does so like a ladder look,
The back of mother's chair;
I'll put away my lesson book,
And step up nicely there;
And then I very soon shall see
How very pretty that will be.”

So saying, Sarah rose and laid
Her lesson book away;
And slyly then the little maid
Her game began to play—
“There's no one looking now,” she said,
“So I will up the ladder tread.”

And trying now what she could do,
A step she took—no more;
For Sarah and her ladder too,
Came tumbling on the floor;
Crying she lay in sorrow there,
Until Mamma removed the chair.

Good children will their lessons get,
And then ask leave to play;
And such as do not tease and fret,
Have pleasure every day;
But mischief will be sure to roll
A weight of sorrow on the soul.

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

THE PARTS OF SPEECH.

Come hither, I'll tell you the nine parts of speech,
Which are in some lessons that school-masters teach.

The articles are as you shortly will see,
First a, or else an; and the other is the.

The nouns are but names; I will just say a few;
John, London, and water, milk, honey, and dew.

The kinds of the nouns then the adjectives show;—
A good boy, a bad boy, a boy quick or slow.

The pronouns are placed where the nouns might have been;—
As, John took his hoop, and he played on the green.

The verbs mean to be, or to do, or be done;
As I am, or you say, the battle was won.

The adverbs tell something concerning the verbs;—
As Mary goes quickly to gather the herbs.

To nouns prepositions as governors stand;—
As, sweet strains of music are played by the band.

Conjunctions the parts of the sentences join;—
As copper and silver and gold are in coin.

Surprise and amaze interjections imply;—
As there! Oh! how pretty! how funny! Oh my!

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

ELIZABETH WILSON;

OR, SOMETHING TO DO.

Tis well to have something to do,
For pleasure by labour is won;
'Tis well to be diligent too,
For then the work sooner is done.

Elizabeth Wilson one day
Was promised a ride or a walk,
Which made her so happy they say,
That it was her study and talk.

The day she again and again,
Had very much wanted to see,
Appear'd. but with thunder and rain,
And then very sorry was she.

The rain came on heavy and fast,
And ran down the gutters in foam;
So strong and so long was the blast,
That there was no stirring from home.

Elizabeth look'd to the sky;
And hoped for awhile it would mend,
But afterwards said with a sigh,
“To go now we cannot pretend.”

So then to her lesson she went,
Her temper was good all the day;
At night she was very content,
Because she had tried to obey.

'Tis well to have something to do,
For pleasure by labour is won;
'Tis well to be diligent too,
For then the work sooner is done.

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

THE CLOUDS.

Like living things along the air,
The clouds are seen to glide;
What curious colors, rich and rare,
They show at eventide.

The morning cloud will vanish soon
As though it had not been;
And sometimes in the sky at noon,
Not one can there be seen.

Sometimes they are so thin and high,
The stars may twinkle through;
And then the moon, if in the sky,
The same will mildly do.

And much I wonder what they are;
Sometimes they seem so light;
And sometimes in the sky afar.
They look as black as night.

My child, the clouds that glide on high,
That you so often see,
Arise from places far and nigh;—
From hill, and dale, and sea.

And in a plate some water bright
Stood out of doors to-day;
At morn, the plate was full—at night,
It all had gone away.

It went away into the air;
It rose towards the sun;—
A little cloud it may be there,—
A little pretty one.

Still it may visit us again,
In gentle April showers;
Because it will return in rain,
To bless the trees and flowers.

How good is God who calls above,
The clouds by means so grand;
And sends them back again in love,
To bless the thirsty land.

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

SHEEP AND LAMBS.

I do feel so happy to see
The sheep when the merry birds sing;
And the lambs give a pleasure to me,
In the beautiful season of spring.

The sheep are so meek and so mild,
So useful and innocent too;
The lambs are so playful and wild,
I love them whatever they do.

They give us the white woolly fleece,
That keeps us in winter so warm,
And I can go by them in peace,
Without feeling any alarm.

And if I am useful and mild,
And harmless, and cheerful, and gay;
I shall be a very good child,
And give as much pleasure as they.

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

THE ROBIN.

Pretty robin, sweetly sing,
Pleasant music all the spring;
For thy pretty warbling voice,
Seems to bid us all rejoice.

Sweetly warble when the thorn,
Milk-white flow'rs so fair adorn;
Then, to bless the summer bright,
Charm the morning—cheer the night.

Pretty robin—do not roam,
Far away at harvest home,
But remain, and sweetly sing,
As in summer and in spring.

Sing when snow is on the land,
And, if food is not at hand,
For thy song so sweet and free,
Thou shalt have a share with me.

Thou art welcome thus to stay,
Till the winter pass away;
Then, when comes the merry spring,
Go into the woods and sing.

Build retired thy little nest,
There in peace and safety rest,
Till thy fully feathered young
Learn to sing as thou hast sung.

And, when summer time is past,
When comes on the winter blast,
When the snow is on the plain,
Pretty robin—come again.

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

THE THREE KINGDOMS OF NATURE.

PART I.—MINERALS.

I will tell you what minerals are,
And tell you too where they are found;
You need not go for them afar,
They lie on and under the ground.

The stones in the street or the yard;
No matter how large or how small,—
The diamond shining and hard,—
Why these things are minerals all.

The salt that is put on the meat,
The brimstone that burneth so bluely,
And alum more acid than sweet;
These also are minerals truly.

For fuel what do you desire?
Why coal which will very well do;
Cold winter it cheers with a fire,—
And coal is a mineral too.

And copper, and silver, and gold,
And brass shining bright as a bell;
Iron also you often behold,—
These minerals all are as well.

Some lie very deep in the ground,
In the darkness and depths of the mine;
But daily by miners are found,
To serve us or for us to shine.

PART II.—VEGETABLES.

Come children let us take a walk,
To yonder shady wood;
Where many a noble elm and oak,
Have now for ages stood.

And let us walk along the field,
And down the pleasant lane;
Observing what the gardens yield,
And then return again.

There's something join'd to every tree,
That beareth leaves or fruit,—
A something that you cannot see;
What is it? why,—the root.

The root that in the earth holds fast,
Supports the tree so tall;
If not, when loudly blows the blast,
The stately tree would fall.

The branches shooting from the stem,
Display their leaves so green;—
Or fruit trees, if we look to them,
The lovely bloom is seen.

The trees in hedge-rows, great or small,
And herbs, and blooming bowers,
Are vegetables, one and all,
And all the pretty flowers.

PART III.—ANIMALS.

On the land, there are many living things,
Some have hands, some have feet, some have wings,
And some are very much like me.
Some are very weak and small,
Some are very strong and tall,
Some can sing a pretty song,
Like the lark, and glide along,
On the wing, through the air so free.

In the sea, living things are there,—
Living things, as on earth, and in air,—
Down, down in the deep, deep sea.
There the little cockle dwells,
In a moving hill of shells;
And the very large whale,
With his very strong tail,
And they glide, through the wave, so free.

All that live, all that move, on the earth,
No matter where the place of their birth,
Be they young, old, short or tall,—
All the fishes in the sea,
All the birds in air so free,
All that live upon the land,
All that creep, or walk, or stand
They are animals, one and all.

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

THE DAISY.

It blooms not on a lofty bower
That is but seldom seen;
It is a little lowly flower,
That grows on every green.

At night, as if to seek repose,
It folds its fair array;
But the beams of morning soon unclose
This pretty eye of day

In spring, its beauty every where,
Is modestly reveal'd;
On hill and plain, and here and there,
In every grassy field.

Still lovely daisy spread abroad
Thy rays upon the green;
And grace the meadow and the road,
And cheer and charm the scene.

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

GOD MADE ALL THINGS.

Where the stars look mildly bright.
In the quiet sky at night;
Where the moon when day is done,
Does her course of beauty run;
Where the sun in splendour fair,
Shines so gaily every where;
There presides the great Supreme;
Thence his rays of glory stream.

Who the splendid sun array'd
In the robes that never fade?
Made and told the moon to glide
Nightly forth in queenly pride?
Made and lighted every star
In the deep blue sky afar?
God made all we see above;
Little children share his love.

Where in lowly, shady place,
Beauty smiles in gentle grace;
Where the lily or the rose,
In the garden sweetly glows;
Where the mountain feels the gale;
Where the calm is in the vale;
Where the stream flows, or the air;
Little children, God is there.

Who the woody valley made,
Where the calm is and the shade?
Built the mountain strong and high,
Where the clouds come gliding by?
Made the stream that freely flows?
Made the lily and the rose?
It was God who lives above;—
Little children share his love.

THE LARK.

Now the pleasant sun is shining,—
Snowdrops spring:
Joy and beauty are combining,—
Sky-larks sing.
Music charmingly well done,
Flows from many a pretty one;—
There's a lark to meet the sun,
On the wing.

Higher up he goes, and higher,
In the light;
Nearly is the soaring lyre
Out of sight;

Though he looks a little thing,
Yet I hear him sweetly sing;
Still he rises on the wing,
Such a height!

Hark! I hear them—six or seven—
In the air;
Many more ascend the heaven,—
Everywhere:
Every pretty little bird,
Sings aloud to praise the Lord,
For the good His hands afford,
Free and fair.

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

DISOBEDIENCE.

A little boy who would not mind
To do as he was bid;
To what was wrong became inclined,
And things forbidden did.

One day he saw the looking-glass,
Within his reach it lay;
He could not by the mirror pass,
But took it out to play.

“This is a pretty thing,” he said,
“However did they make it?
I think I almost feel afraid,—
But who would see me take it?

I'll go and play upon the ice,—
Mamma may never know;
So looking-glass thou art so nice,
Together we will go.”

Away he ran with all his speed,—
The ice was rather thin;
But in his haste he took no heed,—
It broke and let him in.

He screamed aloud in fear and pain;
And then besides—alas!
In trying to get out again,
He broke the looking-glass.

But let me always try and mind
To do as I am bid,
So that I may not be inclined
To do as this boy did.

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

PLEASANT TIMES AND THINGS.

Pleasant is the time of spring,
When the merry birds are singing;
When the lark is on the wing;
And the sky with music ringing.

Pleasant is the summer day,
Where the silver stream is flowing;
Where the lily looks so gay,
Where the ruby rose is glowing.

Pleasant is the harvest moon,
With the stars the sky adorning;
Pleasant is our play at noon,
Pleasant are the night and morning.

Pleasant is the fire at night,
When we pretty tales are telling;
While the tempest in its might,
Loudly rushes round the dwelling.

Pleasant is the gentle child,
That is pleased with what is given;
When denied, content and mild,
Such a child is dear to heaven.

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

THE POOR BLIND MAN.

He cannot see the light;
He cannot see the way;
Nor any scenes that cheer the sight,—
With him the day is as the night,—
The grave is as the gay.

A poor blind man is he,
Led by a dog and string;
The smile of joy he cannot see;
With beauty pleas'd he cannot be,
Though lovely as the spring.

More cause has he to grieve
Than such as have their sight;
And we should pity and relieve
The poor blind man, who would receive
A penny with delight.

He wanders on his way,—
No sight to him is given;
Yet this poor man hereafter may
Enjoy the light of endless day,
Among the blest in heaven.

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

A TRUE STORY.

From a village that lay
In a land far away,
A dog they call'd Hardy was brought;
He came in a ship from his own native land;
The ship left him lonely and lost on the strand;
And vainly the sailors he sought.

He knew not the day,
That the ship sail'd away;
He wandered, a stranger, unknown;
But daily beside the wide water he stood,
And look'd on the ships as they lay on the flood,
And tried to discover his own.

One day a poor child,
That was playful and wild,
Fell into the deep flowing wave;
The dog saw it sink, and the billow close o'er,
He rush'd in and brought the poor child to the shore,
Alive from the watery grave.

A home as a meed,
For his generous deed,
Thenceforward was freely supplied;
His friends gave him food, and a kindly caress;
They loved him while living, and would not do less,
Than give him a grave when he died.

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

THE MORNING WALK.

We took a walk at early dawn,
The dew and mist were on the lawn;
The mountain top and morning cloud,
In gold and purple, shone and glow'd.

We saw the daisy wet with dew,
It was not open to the view;
Its eye, the night before, had closed,
And still the little flower reposed.

And all along the fields so green,
The little flowers asleep were seen;
And in the hedges—till the sun
Awoke them—slumbered every one.

But as the sun in splendour came,
The dew drops shone in silvery flame;
The morning cloud in peace withdrew;
And pass'd away the early dew.

The daisy woke from its repose,
And did its pretty eye unclose;
And then awoke in beauty fair,
A thousand sweet things everywhere.

And there was pleasure in the bowers;
And there was joy among the flowers;
And all appear'd, with one accord,
In silent bliss to bless the Lord.

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

THE BIRD'S NEST.

Perch'd upon a little tree,
Look'd a little bird on me,
And some merry playful boys,
Who were telling with a noise,
Of a nest that they had found,
With four eggs in, on the ground.

As it perch'd upon the tree,
Thus it seem'd to say to me;
Also thus it seem'd to say
To the little boys so gay,
“Do not take away my nest,
Nor my little eggs molest.

Did the Lord, who cares for me,
And for every bird you see,—
Did he teach me how to make it,
Just that you might come and take it?
How would that increase your joys?
Do not take it, little boys.”

What the bird appear'd to say,
To the merry boys so gay;
When the little tale they heard,
Thus they said unto the bird,—
“You had work enough to make it,—
Pretty bird, we will not take it.”

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

THREE LITTLE SCHOLARS.

There were three little boys, on a fine summer day,
Call'd William, and Joseph, and John;
Who early to school were seen walking away,
Where often before they had gone.

Now William of play was exceedingly fond,
And, when drawing nigh to the school,
“Come Joseph” he said “let us bathe in the pond,
For the water is warm in the pool.”

Then William and Joseph that summer day went,
To bathe in the pond and to roam,
But John went to school, and a pleasant time spent,
Until it was time to go home.

When William and Joseph had wand'red awhile,
The pond in the valley they found;
From home it was distant much more than a mile,
It was deep, and they nearly were drown'd.

A man passing by saw them sink in the pool,
And jump'd in to save them from death;
They wish'd that they had not neglected the school;
And hardly could draw in a breath.

When home they return'd they were silent and sad,
And forced to confess and to weep;
So naughty that day they had been, and so bad,
For sorrow they scarcely could sleep.

But John return'd cheerful, and merry, and gay,
And slept like a bird in its nest,
Because he had tried to do well all the day,—
Now, which do you think was the best.

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

THE SABBATH.

There is a day, if understood,
That is a day of peace;
A day of blessing to the good,
Who then from labour cease.

It is a day of hope and rest,
When christians meet and pray;
And more of heaven delights the breast,
Than on another day.

It is a day when mercy beams,
More brightly from above;
And everything in nature seems
More full of peace and love.

The sun more sweetly seems to shine,—
His beams serenely grand,
Look like a gracious smile divine
Upon a happy land.

It is the christian's day of rest,
He loves its peaceful dawn;
It is a day that God hath blest,
And Jesus calls his own.

It is a day when we should read
The word of God, and pray;
It is a blessed day indeed,—
It is the sabbath day.