When I told him that there's an Animal Samaritans charity to provide "support and understanding" for those grieving for a pet, he laughed, saying he imagined a man mournfully holding a water-filled plastic bag containing a floating goldfish. He'll admit that Disco was "one of the most beautiful creatures on this earth, and one of the nicest", yet in the same breath, exclaim, incredulous, "Cats have shorter lives than people!
Surely you knew that when you got him? But I feel like our five year old, who sobbed, "I wish there was no such thing as dying! At the end of it, he'd scrawled, "I wish you good luck, Disco. I can't think of that cat without welling up. As my mother insultingly put it, "It was very flattering to have someone who never criticised you and depended on you completely.
Our cat was like a family member
But it was his personality. That's what you non-pet people don't understand. With respect to Natasha she's more aloof, Disco understood the job description , I've vowed to return to the breeder, and find a replica of my friend in kitten form — leading my husband to accuse me of being "like Rod Stewart choosing a wife".
Harsh words, but I've seen him surreptitiously glance towards the back door — Disco preferred butler service to using the flap. He might joke about blondes but, in his heart, he knows we've lost a beloved family member. Order by newest oldest recommendations.
You may be in the depths of a closet, Where nobody sees but a mouse, You may be all alone in the cellar, You. And the only contrivance to stop him Is just to be sure what you say — Sure of your facts and your fancies, Sure of your work and your play ; Be honest, be brave, and be kindly, Be gentle and loving as well, And then — you can laugh at the stories The little bird tells!
Never be a little true, Or a little in the right. Trifles even Lead to heaven ; Trifles make the life of man ; So in alf things, Great or small things, Be as thorough as you can. Let no speck their surface dim, — Spotless truth and honor bright ; I 'd not give a fig for him Who says any lie is white. He who falters, Twists or alters Little atoms, when we speak, May deceive me; But, believe me, To himself he is a sneak. Whatsoe'er you find to do, Do it, and with all your might ; Let your prayers be strong and true ; Prayer, my lads, will keep you right.
Trust Him ever ;. Doubt Him never ; Then He '11 show what He can do. Every one is sowing Both by word and deed, All mankind are growing Either wheat or weed. Thoughtless ones are throwing Any sort of seed. Over and over again, No matter which way I turn, I always find in the book of life Some lesson that I must learn ; I must take my turn at the mill, I must grind out the golden grain. I must work at my task With a resolute will, Over and over again. Life is of little value, unless it be consecrated by duty.
Little moments make an hour ; Little thoughts, a book ; Little seeds, a tree or flower ; Water-drops, a brook ; Little deeds of faith and love Make a home for you above. The fisher who draws in his net too soon Won't have any fish to sell ; The child who shuts up his book too soon Won't learn any lessons well. If you would have your learning stay, Be patient, don't learn too fast ; The man who travels a mile each day, Will get round the world at last. True liberty can exist only when justice is equally administered to all. Fame comes from noble deeds. TEN little Yankee boys all went to school ; Nine sat on a bench, one on a stool.
Nine little Yankee boys went out to play ; Eight came back again, one ran away. Eight little Yankee boys stood in a row ; One said his lesson, seven — "I don't know! Six little Yankee boys slid on the ice ; Five broke through, one said — " How nice! Four little Yankee boys ate chicken pie ; Three got choked, but they did not die. Three little Yankee boys went and played ball ; Two had a good game, one had a fall. Two little Yankee boys ran away home ; One stayed there, and one went to Rome. One little Yankee boy was put in his bed, Went fast asleep ; there 's no more to be said.
My baby 's got some measles, And you must strike 'em in. Or maybe its desipelas! I think, said Johnny, solemnly, I think she 's awful sick. Now get some water to her feet, And mustard on her head, And wrap her up in blankets, Or she '11 be very dead. And here 's the medicine to take, You '11 need your biggest spoon ; 'T will cure her up like everything This very afternoon. Then Johnny took his hat and cane And started for the door. A dreary place would be this earth Were there no little people in it, The song of life would lose its mirth Were there no little ones to begin it.
As a little silvery circular ripple, set in motion by a falling pebble, expands from its inch of radius, further and further on the pool ; so there is not a child, a youth, a feeble, humble Christian who may not cause a gentle wave on the pool of life, and exercise some influence, however small, upon the world.
Whatever you're doing, Bear this always in mind, In all little things Be both thoughtful and kind. Kindness has many charms. SOME little folks are apt to say, When asked their task to touch, " I '11 put it off at least to-day ; It cannot matter much. But little duties still put of! Will end in "never done " ; And " by and by is time enough " Has ruined many a one. Oft the cloud which wraps the present hour serves but to brighten all our future days.
KEEP a watch on your words, my darlings, For words are wonderful things ; They are sweet like the bees' fresh honey, Like the bees, they have terrible stings. They can bless like the warm, glad sunshine, And brighten a lonely life ; They can cut, in the strife of anger, Like an open two-edged knife. Let them pass through your lips unchallenged, If their errand is true and kind ; If they come to support the weary, To comfort and help the blind If a bitter revengeful spirit Prompts the words, let them be unsaid.
They may flash through a brain like lightning, Or fall on a heart like lead. Keep them back, if they are cold and cruel, Under bar, and lock, and seal ; The wounds they make, my darlings, Are always slow to heal. May peace guard your lives, and ever, From this time of your early youth, May the words that you daily utter Be the beautiful words of truth. DO n't think, dear friends, that I 'm too small To fill a place like this. I 'm big enough to love you all, And throw you all a kiss.
A little word, a look, a smile, Will never come amiss ; Takes but a minute, as you see, To throw you all a kiss. It may be that you have at home Some boy or little sis Who laughs, and peeps, and when you go Throws after you a kiss. Smiles are more than sunshine, Love is more than gold ; Patient hearts and toiling hands Bring joy and wealth untold. Yield always to reason, but never to passion. It has a long string, and goes to with a snap.
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He has carefully scattered some grains of corn, And see! Away it comes chirruping, chirping, and hopping; Into the trap it will soon be popping! Mary and Lilly take part in the sport, It is so exciting to see a bird caught! Don't stir from your places, and don't speak a word, Or else you will frighten away the bird. Now our morning work is ended.
Longer we must not remain ; It is time our way we wended To our happy home again. Gladly do our mothers greet us Every day when we go home ; Gladly our companions greet us When again we hither come. Truth is honest, truth is sure ; Truth is strong, and must endure.
Falsehood lasts a single day; Then it vanishes away. BUT when you are weary with working, Or when you are tired with play, Then, ready for quiet and slumber, You '11 be glad that night follows day. I '11 come to you then, O my darling, And tenderly sing you to sleep, While high in the heavens so peaceful The stars will their faithful watch keep.
Unskilled workmen will blame their tools. You will see by and by, When a cloud 's in the sky, I shall sob and shall cry, Though I hardly know why. Yes ; you '11 see the tear-drops pouring When a cloud 's in the sky. THE soft, balmy breezes are blowing, The roses and poppies are gay, The farmer is busily mowing, While the birds and the butterflies play.
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- Luhu is also called "the saddest cat in the world"!
With garlands of flowers I meet you, As high rides the midsummer sun ; The robins and humming-birds greet you, And holiday sports have begun. OH, I'm a jolly fellow, Though some may think me sad, For, dressed in red and yellow, I surely must be glad. Oh, may my harvest scatter A rich and boundless store! The larder full, what matter How loud the tempests roar? With icicles I 'm crowned, And from the frozen ground No flowers can grow. Yet I can bring good cheer, And, children, never fear. GREAT, wide, beautiful, wonderful world, With the wonderful water round you curled, And the wonderful grass upon your breast, World, you are wonderfully dressed!
The wonderful air is over me, And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree: It walks on the water, and whirls the mills, And talks to itself on the tops of the hills. With cities and gardens and cliffs and isles, And people upon you for thousands of miles? Ah, you are so great, and I am so small, I tremble to think of you, World, at all! IF I could be the old year, that 's passing swift away, I 'd hasten to the children, and to them I would say: If I could be the New Year, I 'd take them by the hand, And kiss their smiling faces as joyously they stand, And bid them all a welcome, the fondest that I knew.
And hope they 'd learn to love me, and be my good friends, too. I have learned by experience that no man's charac- ter can be effectually injured but by his own acts. Quit not certainty for hope. Odd moments are the golden dust of life. Dancing where the sunbeams play, Where I go, or where I stay All the happy glowing day. Water, water pure for me, Nothing better I can see, If I 'd healthy, happy be. Whither go you, stream so bright, — Sparkling in the golden light, Murmuring softly in the night? Water seeming said to me, Rippling all so merrily, I am going to the sea, Doing good to some each day, Making beautiful the way, — But good-by!
SWEET evening in her robes of sable hue Is here, and is bestowing her soft dew Upon the earth, and shutting up the flowers, With her moist fingers, for the sleeping hours. Down the hill-side, through the valley, Gliding onward, murmuring low, Watering flowers, pretty flowers, Giving joy where'er you go. Therefore let us now learn gladly What will through our lives remain, Hours hasten without tarrying, And not one comes back again. Sometimes I am soft as a sweet gentle child ; I play with the flowers, am quiet and mild.
For his heart is good and true ; - He is planning something new Always, for his home and friends. Cold and distant though he be, He is very dear to me. February, next in years, As a little boy appears, He 's so very short and small ; But he 's sturdy after all. He can skate and coast and slide, And his sisters, in their pride, Greet him warmly, for they know He must brave the winter's snow.
Slipping, sliding into view, Here comes March! How do you do? Next comes April, fretful child, Sweet at times, then cross and wild ; Gries a great deal, then she's sunny. All her brothers call her " Funny. Here comes loVely, laughing May! What can she have done to-day — Roaming o'er the meadows sweet, With the daisies at her feet, And the buttercups so gay Smiling at her all the way?
Little May 's a favored child, Gentle, loving, meek and mild. June is queen among them all ; Roses blossom at her call: All her paths are strewn with flowers Through the long, bright, sunny hours. Paints the roses, white and red, While the pansies in their bed Open wide their sleepy eyes. June has such a happy way That the neighbors always say, " Come again another day.
Panting with the noontide heat, Thirsty, tired, with weary feet, Comes July, my brave July. Rising early as the dawn, While the dew is on the lawn, Off he goes, with whistle gay To the meadows far away, Where the grass and clover bloom, Yielding up their sweet perfume. By the seaside, far away, Where there is no work to fear, We will rest, and dream, and hear What the voices of the sea Have to say to you and me. September appears with a bounding rush, That seems to say: October comes in late: All through the day she's painting pears and apples, but when the evening comes she sallies forth, with brush and palette, to brighten up the fading leaves and grasses.
Nobody loves November, and yet she has charms which all my other children might be proud to have. I love them all. Each is my favorite child. A fonder, happier mother never lived. THE winter being over, In order comes the spring, Which doth green herbs discover And cause the birds to sing. The night also expired, There comes the morning bright, Which is so much desired By all that love the light. This may teach them that mourn To put their grief to flight ; The spring succeedeth winter, And day must follow night. Write injuries in dust, kindnesses in marble.
Do not look for wrong and evil, — You will find them if you do ; As you measure for your neighbor, He will measure back to you. H, look at the moon! She is shining up there ; O mother, she looks like a lamp in the air. Last week she was smaller, And shaped like a bow ; But now she's grown bigger and round as an O.
Pretty moon, pretty moon, How you shine on the door, On my nursery floor! You shine on my playthings and show me their place, And I love to look up At your pretty bright face. And there is a star close by you ; And maybe that small twinkling star Is your little baby. Oft and oft I wonder, when I see you there, How they get to light you, hanging in the air. When you go at morning, when the night is past, And the sun comes peeping o'er the hills at last, Sometime I will watch you slyly overhead, When you think I 'm sleeping snugly in my bed.
OH, I wonder if any one knows, On a sunshiny day, where a naughty cloud goes? I have heard that it hovers about, unheeded, Until on an angry child's face it is needed ; Then swiftly and silently it settles down On his smooth, white forehead — an ugly frown. Oh, I wonder if any one knows, On a cloudy day, where the sunshine goes?
I have heard that it chooses the queerest of places — The hearts of good children, and shines through their faces. In their eyes it dances all the while, On their lips it lingers — a loving smile. JANUARY brings the snow, Makes our feet and fingers glow ; February brings the rain, Thaws the frozen lake again ; March brings breezes loud and shrill, Stirs the dancing daffodil ; April brings the primrose sweet, Scatters daisies at our feet ; May brings flocks of pretty lambs, Skipping by their fleecy dams ; June brings tulips, lilies, roses, Fills the children's hands with posies ; Hot July brings cooling showers, Apricots and gilliflowers ; August brings the sheaves of corn, Then the harvest home is borne ; Warm September brings the fruit, — Sportsmen then begin to shoot ; Fresh October brings the pheasant, — Then to gather nuts is pleasant ; Dull November brings the blast, — Then the leaves are whirling fast ; Chill December brings the sleet, Blazing fire and Christmas treat.
Habit is a cable ; we weave a thread of it each day, until it becomes so strong we cannot break it. God hath made the earth so gay! Every little flower He waketh, Every herb to grow He maketh. When the pretty lambs are springing, When the little birds are singing, Child, forget not God to praise, Who hath sent such happy days.
Hotly burns the noontide ray ; Gentle drops of summer showers Fall on thirsty trees and flowers ; On the cornfield rain doth pour, Ripening grain for winter store. Child, to God thy thanks should be, Who in summer thinks of thee. See what God hath given away! Orchard trees with fruit are bending, Harvest wains are homeward wending, And the Lord all o'er the land Opens wide His bounteous hand. Children, gathering fruits that fall, Think of God, who gives them all. IRDS are in the woodland, buds are on the tree, Merry spring is coming ; ope the pane and see.
Then come sportive breezes, fields with flowers are gay, In the woods we 're singing through the summer day. Fruits are ripe in autumn, leaves are sear and red ; Then we glean the cornfield, thanking God for bread. Then at last comes winter ; fields are cold and lorn, But there 's happy Christmas, when our Lord was born.
Thus as years roll onward merrily we sing, Thankful for the blessings all the seasons bring. The Children's Book of Poetry. Bring the flowers back again ; Yellow cowslip and violet blue, Buttercups and daisies too. He the leafless trees has thinned ; Loudly doth he roar and shout ; Bar the door and keep him out. O'er the fields thy covering strow ; Cover up the seed so warm, Through the winter safe from harm. The scuttles are shut, or I 'd dash right in And stream down the attic stair.
WHEN woods were still and smoky, And roads with dust were white, And daily the red sun came up, With never a cloud in sight, And the hill-side brook had hardly strength To journey down to the plain, A welcome sound it was to hear The robins' song of rain. Your doubts and fears are vain, For He who knoweth all your needs To-morrow will send you rain. Lift up your heads and listen, Forget your thirst and pain, For He who knoweth all your needs To-morrow will send you rain. Each told the news to his neighbor, Each neighbor passed it along, Till the lowliest flower in the quiet wood Had heard of the robins' song.
Dear little feathered prophets! Your message was not in vain, For in the silence of the night Came the footsteps of the rain. I will hear what they say of me In my drapery of snow. The sun rose up in the morn, And looked from east to west, And April lay still and white ; Then he called the wind from his rest. Cover the golden hair, Close down the beaming eyes. One last time let us kiss thee, Sweet April ; we shall miss thee!
The sun touched his lips to her cheeks, And the color returned in a glow ; The wind laid his hand on her hair, And it glistened under the snow, As, laughing aloud in glee, Sweet April shook herself free. Come, rain, come, That the water may run, That the mill may make our meal ; 'T will grind our wheat And corn so sweet, When it turns the old mill-wheel. A little bit of patience often makes the sunshine come, And a little bit of love makes a very happy home ; A little bit of hope makes a rainy day look gay, And a little bit of charity makes glad a weary way. WITH a little water mix a little clay ; Stir it with a crooked stick half the day, Sweeten it with sand, put in some biscuit crumbs, White stones for citron, and black stones for plums ; Take it up carefully, roll it on a board, Then you have the best pie money can afford.
Put it on a flat stone, set it in the sun ; There let it bake till the mud-pie is done. How the clanking of the wheels Wears the hours away! Languidly the autumn wind Stirs the greenwood leaves ; From the fields the reapers sing, Binding up the sheaves, And a proverb haunts my mind, As the spell is cast — " The mill will never grind With the water that has passed.
Golden years are fleeting by, Youth is passing too ; Learn to make the most of life, Lose no happy day ; Time will never bring thee back Chances swept away. Leave no tender word unsaid, Live while life shall last — " The mill will never grind With the water that has passed. APRIL is called so for it opens the flowers. April, the opener, unlocks everything: Gray fields, bare fallows, and these hearts of ours All but the miser's — feel the joy of spring.
GOOD morning, merry sunshine How did you wake so soon? You 've scared the little stars away, And shined away the moon. I saw you go to sleep last night, Before I ceased my playing. How did you get away over here, And where have you been staying? I just go round to see My little children of the East, Who rise and watch for me. I waken all the birds and bees And flowers on my way ; And, last of all, the little child Who stayed out late to play.
Little brook, sing us your parting song! Fondly we've watched you in vale and glade ; Say, will you dream of our loving shade? Soon fast asleep in their earthy beds, The snow laid a coverlet over their heads. WELL, April, fickle lass, you 're here, With muddy shoes and cap of snow, With now a smile and now a tear, With first a kiss and then a blow. You come with saucy flap and skirt, With pout of lip and roguish eye, That mark you, April, for a flirt Who offers love but to deny.
But then, dear April, we forgive The follies of your wanton way ; You tend the flowers while you live, And, dying, give them all to May. He who does one fault at first, And lies to hide it, makes it two. THE wind blew coldly through the streets, And laughed in the people's faces, As if he would say, I 've caught you to-day, And enjoy your stern grimaces. But the children smiled, and, laughing, said, We like to hear you bellow, For with furs and muff it is easy enough To hide from you, old fellow.
A cheerful temper joined with innocence will make beauty attractive, knowledge delightful, and wit good- natured. The fruit when young is soft and white, And closely wrapped in green, And tassels hang from every ear, Which children love to glean. But when the tassels fade away, The fruit is ripe and old ; It peeps from out the wrapping dry- Like beads of yellow gold.
The fruit when young we boil and roast, When old we grind it well. Now think of all the plants you know, And try its name to tell. Children's Book of Poetry. THIS is only a blade of grass ; But how does it grow? Does any one know? The seasons come, and the seasons pass, And with every year the grass we have here, So green and bright in the sun and rain ; And then it is brown when the snow comes down, But young and fresh in the spring again. This is only a little girl ; But how does she grow? With her hair of gold and her teeth of pearl, From a baby so wee she will grow to be A maiden as fair as a blooming rose ; But no one can say, as day follows day, How a blade of grass or a little girl grows.
Quick believers should have broad shoulders. SAID the old rook to the young rook, Will you get out of that nest? Said the young rook to the old rook, No ; I like this place the best. Said the old rook to the young rook, Do you hear me? Said the young rook to the old rook, Yes, I hear ; but I mean to stay. Said the old rook to the young rook, We are too many here! Said the young rook to the old rook, Then go yourself, my dear. Said the old rook to the young rook, I am king of this elm-tree! Said the young rook to the old rook, That matters not to me.
Said the old rook to the young rook, Take that long bough to the right ; Said the young rook to the old rook, I am sleepy, so good-night. Said the old rook to the young rook, For the last time, will you go? Said the young rook to the old rook, For the last time, no, no, no. Said the old rook to the young rook, I shall make you feel my beak!
Said the young rook to the old rook, Grandfather, did you speak? So the old one pecked the young one Till he fairly turned him out ; — And that was why I could not sleep, The rooks made such a rout. THERE'S a purple tint on the woodland leaves, And the winds are up all day ; There 's a rustling heard on the yellow sheaves, And it seems to sadly say, Sweet summer 's gone away. In the wrinkled brook no roses peep, And the bees no longer stay, And the butterflies have gone to sleep, And the locusts trill all day. Sweet summer 's gone away. On the browning fields the spider spins Where the lambs no longer play ; And the cricket now his chirp begins, And the quail is whistling gay.
There are loving arms for baby dear Though the skies are chill and gray, And a cosey home-nest all the year, And sweet kisses every day, Though summer 's gone away. THE bird that soars on highest wing Builds on the ground her lowly nest. And she that doth most sweetly sing Sings in the shade when all things rest. In lark and nightingale we see What honor hath humility. FLY away, little birds, 't is your season to go ; The winter is coming, With cold winds and snow. The flowers have gone from the meadows around, To live in their seeds, And their roots underground.
The leaves have turned red on the bushes and trees, And fall from the branches In every light breeze.
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The moth lies asleep in the bed he has spun, And the bee stays at home With his honeyed work done. So now, little birds, you must hasten away To the South, where the sunshine And blossoms will stay. But return with the spring, when the weather is fair. And sing your sweet songs In the warm pleasant air. Their toes turned in and their bills were round, And they always waddled over the ground In search of a muddy spot. And they did n't seem to have any sense, For they would n't roost on the barnyard fence, Or make any use of their wings.
As they grew older, the mother-hen Went out with her chickens a-walking, when They came to a pretty pond, And into it straight, with a fearless dash, The web-footed chickens went splashety-splash, And scared their mother so fond. As they grew bigger, they would n't mind, But wandered off wherever inclined. And the motherly hen declared That, if they continued behaving so, She was n't to blame, and they might go And drown, for all she cared. HE hopped down cheerily into the snow, Brave little barefoot Brownie — As if snow were the warmest thing below, And as cosey as it is downy!
And his brown, little, knowing, saucy head, In a way that was 'cutely funny, He jerked to one side, as though he said, " I do n't care if it is n't sunny," " I do n't care! I do n't care! I do n't care if I have n't a shoe to my foot ; — I 'm a bird, sir, for all sorts of weathers. Through life I '11 try to remember To meet its winters with a cheerful word, Like thee to brave my December. He nibbled at the roots awhile, And frisked beneath the trees ; And watched the birds and flowers bright In sweet content and ease.
Till Fido, seeing Bunny there, With yelps, to catch him tried ; But Bunny sped, an opening found, And in he went to hide. And when he dared to look around To find where he might be, Some brother rabbit said, " Good Day," And met him cheerily. ITTLE brown squirrel, pray, what do you eat? What had you for dinner to-day? Nuts, beautiful nuts, so nice and so sweet!
I gather them off the tall trees in the wood, And eat all the kernels I find that are good, And then throw the hard shells away. Little brown squirrel, but what do you do When the season for nuts is o'er? I gather ripe nuts all the long summer through, And hide them so deep in a hole in the ground ; Then, when the dark winter again has come round, I have plenty still laid up in store.
Dear little reader, I wonder if you Are laying in food for your mind? You should seek what is good and instructive and true. You should gain all the knowledge that ought to be known, — That when the bright days of your childhood are flown, You may be of some use to mankind. YES, go, little butterfly! A poor fluttering prisoner no longer you '11 be! There, out of the window! Go, rest on the bosom of some favorite flower ; Go, sport in the sunlight your brief little hour, For your day, at the longest, is scarcely a span ; Then go and enjoy it ; be gay while you can.
As for me, I have something more useful to do. I must work, I must learn ; — Though I play sometimes too, All your days with the blossoms, bright thing, you may spend ; They will close with the summer ; Mine never shall end. Sweet love is the sunshine That warms into life ; For only in darkness Live hatred and strife.
There is no dearth of charity in the world in giving ; but there is comparatively little exercised in thinking and speaking. Dear little worm, we '11 say " Good-by " Till you come out a butterfly. Oh, see it fly! The lovely, lovely butterfly! Dear little butterfly, you 're ours! Flutter, flutter, flutter on While the sun is shining ; Gently flit from bower to bower Joyous little rover; soon the summer will be gone. Be slow to promise and quick to perform. They are never alone that are accompanied with noble thoughts.
Said one little chick, " That belongs to me! It is nice and sweet," Said number three ; " let us share the treat. They pulled and they tugged, the downy things ; And, oh, how they flapped their baby wings! Just please let go of this bit of wheat! For a saucy crow has watched the fight, And laughs: THE oxen are such clever beasts, They '11 drag the plough all day ; They 're very strong and tug along Great loads of wood or hay. They feed on grass when green or dry ; Their flesh is beef, for food ; Their lungs are "lights," their stomach "tripe," Their skin for leather 's good.
Their hair men use in mortar too, — Lime, water, sand, and hair They nicely mix and smoothly fix For plastering so fair. For making soap their bones are used ; Their horns for combs we group ; Their feet we boil for " neat's-foot oil," Their tails for ox-tail soup. Thus every part is useful made. The same is true of cows, — Except their ilk gives luscious milk, Instead of dragging ploughs. Here we are — rams and sheep and lambs — All flocking up around you. Never speak to deceive, nor listen to betray. WHAT does the kitten say? Up jumps the dog, and says, " Bow, wow, wow I I 'm as good as kitty, and I 'm hungry now.
Evoking bygone amusements and guilty pleasures
The rooster struts around and cries, " Cock-a-doodle-do,' As if that were just about the only thing he knew. On the roof, the gentle dove says, " Coo, coo, coo! Love me, little girls and boys, for I love you. What does our baby say? OPEN the snowy little bed, and put the baby in it ; Lay down her pretty curly head, She '11 go to sleep in a minute. Tuck the sheet down round her neck, And cover the dimples over, Till she looks like a rose-bud peeping out From a bed of sweet white clover. RED and white, red and white, Oh, I have seen a funny sight, — The old red cow with her pretty white calf, And she was trying to teach him to laugh.
Hearts, like doors, can ope with ease To very, very little keys ; And do n't forget that two of these Are " I thank you, sir " and " If you please. I'M very glad to get here ; I only came to-day ; I was this very morning a hundred miles away. Oh, what a long, long way to come! How tired you must be! I 'm fond of going far ; it is the best for me. You left us last -September ; And, pray, where did you go? I went South for the winter ; — I always do, you know. How do you like it? I like its sunny skies ; — Among the orange-blossoms I caught the nicest flies ; But when the spring had opened, I wanted to come back.
You're just the same old swallow — Your wings are just as black. Your little last year's nestlings, — Do tell us how they are. My nestlings are great swallows, And mated long ago. And will you build this summer, Among the flowers and leaves? No ; I have taken lodgings beneath the stable-eaves ; You '11 hear each night and morning My twitter in the sky.
Your song is always welcome ; and now good-by. Oh what a tangled web we weave When first we practise to deceive! In this winter weather Cold must be your nest. Hopping o'er the carpet, Picking up the crumbs — Robin knows the children Love him when he comes. Is the story true, Robin, You were once so good To the little orphans Sleeping in the wood? Did you see them lying, Pale and cold and still, And strew leaves above them With your little bill? Whether true or not, Robin, We are glad to see How you trust us children — Walking in so free, Hopping o'er the carpet, Picking up the crumbs — Robin knows the children Love him when he comes.
The snow is on the ground. Robin, Robin, what will you do? There 's nothing green around. Dear child, I come a messenger To tell you of the spring. The snow will soon be gone away, And that is why I sing. Who only joys when skies are fair, And trees and blossoms grow, Will never cheer an aching heart And bid it comfort know. Value a good conscience more than praise. THE snow 's on the ground, And the cold 's in the air ; There is nothing to eat, And the branches are bare: Open the window, Kind lady, we pray ; Bestow a few crumbs Upon us to-day: You 've flannels and furs To keep yourself warm ; You are not obliged To be out in the storm: It is not necessary for all men to be great in action.
The greatest and sublimest power is often simple pa- tience. Who will not mercy unto others show, How can he mercy ever hope to have? J- Will you listen to me? Who stole the nest away From the plum-tree to-day? Such a thing I 'd never do.