An' all us other children, when the supper things is done, Ef you Watch Onc't they was a little boy wouldn't say his prayers- His Mammy heered him holler, an' his Daddy heered him bawl, An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wasn't there at all! An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press, An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'wheres, I guess; But all they ever found was thist his pants an' roundabout: An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you Ef you An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin, An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin; there, She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care! An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide, They was two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side, An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about! An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you Ef you Watch Out! The Night Bird An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue, 163 An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear, Ef you Watch Out! James Whitcomb Riley [1852 THE NIGHT BIRD A MYTH A FLOATING, a floating Across the sleeping sea, All night I heard a singing bird "Oh came you off the isles of Greece Or off some tree in forests free' ས Which fringe the western main?” "I came not off the old world, Nor yet from off the new; But I am one of the birds of God Which sing the whole night through." "Oh sing, and wake the dawning! Oh whistle for the wind! The night is long, the current strong, "The current sweeps the old world, The wind will blow, the dawn will glow, Ere thou hast sailed them through." Charles Kingsley [1819-1875] GOLDEN-TRESSÈD ADELAIDE SING, I pray, a little song, Mother dear! Neither sad nor very long: It is for a little maid, Golden-tressèd Adelaide! Therefore let it suit a merry, merry ear, Mother dear! Let it be a merry strain, Mother dear! Shunning e'en the thought of pain: For our gentle child will weep, Childhood shall be all divine, Mother dear! And like endless summer shine: Gay as Edward's shouts and cries, Bright as Agnes' azure eyes; Therefore let thy song be merry; dost thou hear, Mother dear? Bryan Waller Procter [1787-1874] HOLY THURSDAY 'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean, Came children walking two and two, in red, and blue, and green; Gray-headed beadles walked before, with wands as white as snow, Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames waters flow. Oh what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of London town! Seated in companies they sit, with radiance all their own. Young Soldiers 165 The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs, Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands. Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song, Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among: Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor. Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door. William Blake (1757-1827] YOUNG SOLDIERS Oн, were you ne'er a schoolboy, And feel that swelling of the heart You ne'er can feel again; Didst never meet, far down the street, It seems to me but yesterday, Nor scarce so long ago, Since all our school their muskets took To charge the fearful foe. Our muskets were of cedar wood, With ramrod bright and new, With bayonet forever set, And painted barrel, too. We charged upon a flock of geese, That thought to show us fight. Our Captain was as brave a lad As e'er commission bore; All brightly shone his new tin sword, A paper cap he wore; He led us up the hillside steep, Against the western wind, While the cockerel plume that decked his head Streamed bravely out behind. We shouldered arms, we carried arms, We charged with bayonet, That in our course we met. With fearless hearts, though tired limbs, We fought the mimic fray, Till the supper bell, from out the dell, Bade us march, march away. Unknown THE SPIDER AND THE FLY "WILL you walk into my parlor?" said the Spider to the Fly. ""Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy; The way into my parlor is up a winding stair, And I have many curious things to show when you are there." "Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "to ask me is in vain; For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again." "I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high; Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly. "There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin; And if you like to rest a while, I'll snugly tuck you in!" "Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it said, They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!" |