Child Songs of Cheer

Grandfather says that sometimes,
When stars are twinkling and
A new moon shines, there come times
When folks see fairy-land!

So when there's next a new moon,
I mean to watch all night!
Grandfather says a blue moon
Is best for fairy light,

And in a peach-bloom, maybe,
If I look I shall see
A little fairy baby
No bigger than a bee!

THE LITTLE FIR-TREES

Hey! little evergreens,
Sturdy and strong!
Summer and autumn time
Hasten along;
Harvest the sunbeams, then,
Bind them in sheaves,
Range them, and change them
To tufts of green leaves.
Delve in the mellow mold,
Far, far below,
And so,
Little evergreens, grow!
Grow, grow!
Grow, little evergreens, grow!

Up, up so airily
To the blue sky,
Lift up your leafy tips
Stately and high;
Clasp tight your tiny cones,
Tawny and brown;
By and by, buffeting
Rains will pelt down;
By and by, bitterly
Chill winds will blow;
And so,
Little evergreens, grow!
Grow, grow!
Grow, little evergreens, grow!

Gather all uttermost
Beauty, because,—
Hark, till I tell it now!
How Santa Claus,
Out of the northern land,
Over the seas,
Soon shall come seeking you,
Evergreen trees!
Seek you with reindeer soon,
Over the snow;
And so,
Little evergreens, grow!
Grow, grow!
Grow, little evergreens, grow!

What if the maples flare
Flaunting and red,
You shall wear waxen white
Tapers instead!
What if now, otherwhere,
Birds are beguiled,
You shall yet nestle
The little Christ-child!
Ah! the strange splendor
The fir-trees shall know!
And so,
Little evergreens, grow!
Grow, grow!
Grow, little evergreens, grow!

THE WREN-HOUSE

Yesterday I took my saw
And some bits of wood,
And I made a little house
Nicely as I could.

I put on a mossy-green
Little pointed roof,
And I cut a tiny door
That is pussy-proof.

For I hope some little wrens
To our yard will come
And will choose my little house
For their little home.

I shall hang it in the boughs
Of the apple-tree,
And I'm sure as rent for it
They will sing to me!

THE BABY'S RIDE

Chee! Chee! Chickadee!
Sing-time and sun!
Aye, aye, baby-bye,
Springtime has begun!

In the little willow cart,
On a downy bed,
Pretty parasol of silk
Swinging overhead,

Let us go along the lane
Where a baby sees
Mighty tufts of grass, and weeds
Tall as forest trees!

Bluebird on the apple-bough,
Sing and sing and sing!
Sing your very sweetest now
For babyhood and spring!

"Bah! Bah!" from the pasture,
And "Caw! Caw!" from the crow,
And bleating from the little calf
That has not learned to low.

Apple-buds, apple-buds breaking apart,
The baby looks upward with love-laden gaze;
Oh, shower some petals down here in his cart,
One honey-sweet cluster of pretty pink sprays!

Apple-buds, apple-buds, scornful and too
Vain of your loveliness, stay where you are!
The cheeks of the baby are pinker than you,
And finer and softer and sweeter by far!

See the pretty little lambs,
How they frisk and play!
See their silky fleeces shine
White as buds in May!

White as are the fleecy clouds
Softly blowing by—
What if they were little lambs
Playing in the sky?

Robin on the peach-bough,
Swinging overhead,
Sing a little song and say
Why is your breast so red?

Why is your voice so sweet, and
Your song so merry, say?
And wherefore do you spread your wings
And quickly fly away?

Ho, ho! see the queer little prints there
That cover the road, baby, look!
At the web-footed tangle that hints where
The ducks have gone down to the brook!

The Muscovy mammas that waddled
Zigzag, you can trace in their tracks,
And the dear little ducklings that toddled
And tumbled sometimes on their backs!

Buttercup, buttercup, buttercup gold,
O give us a handful of riches to hold!

Ho, ho! laughs the baby, and grasps in his glee
His wealth, but soon shows what a spend-thrift is he!
—Nay, nay, he is king, though he never was crowned,
And royally scatters his gold on the ground!

Bough of the willow-tree
Over the brook,
Down darts a kingfisher,
Look, baby, look!

Back on the willow-bough,
Fishing is done;
Happy and nappy now
There in the sun.

Happy and nappy the baby is, too,
Softly his eyelids droop over the blue,
Golden his curls on the white pillow lie,
Sleep, baby, sleep, baby, hush-a-by-bye.

AN INDIAN RAID

Did you see some Indians passing,
Just a short while back?
Looks as if they must be massing
For a fierce attack!

Buckskin fringes, turkey-feather
Huge head-dresses and
Bows and arrows, altogether
Quite a frightful band!

From the lilac-bushes springing,
See them rushing! Ugh!
Awful war-whoops wildly ringing!
There'll be scalping, too!

In their fearful frenzy leaping,
It is very plain
Soon around us they'll be heaping
Mountains of the slain!

Soon their victims will be falling—
But, above the noise,
Hark! I hear somebody calling,
"Come to dinner, boys!"

THE FIRST SLEIGH-RIDE

O happy time of fleecy rime
And falling flakes, and O
The glad surprise in baby eyes
That never saw the snow!

Down shining ways the flying sleighs
Go jingling by, and see!
Beside the gate the horses wait
And neigh for you and me!

SLEEPY TIME

Hey, baby! Ho, baby! here upon my knee,
See the firelight flicker over you and me!

See the tiny people basking in the glow,
Peering through the ruddy little coals, and so

How they dance and scamper! Merry fairy folk!
Little sparks for spangles, little wings of smoke!

Come baby, come baby, nestle in my arms;
Hear the purring flames now sing their sleepy charms.

All the firelight fairies, all the drowsy elves,
In the downy ashes cover up themselves.

And I fold the little blanket over you;
Bye baby, my baby, let us slumber too.

WHEN BETTIE AND ANNE WENT WALKING

When they took their dollies walking,
They were both so busy talking,
(They had not met for half an hour and so had much to say)
That they heedlessly kept going
Down the shady streets, not knowing,
Till they wanted to come back again, they could not find the way!

In their fright they felt forlorner
Every time they turned a corner,
And they wailed to one another, "Oh, whatever shall we do?
A big bear might come to bite us,
Or a dreadful dog to fight us,
Or the wicked gipsies get us! Oh, boo-hoo! Boo-hoo! Boo-hoo!"

But this story, though a sad one,
Has an end that's not a bad one,
For at last somebody found them as they bade the world good-by;
They took their dollies home again,
And vowed they'd never roam again,
And their mothers hugged and kissed them, saying, "There, my dears, don't cry!"

THE BLUEBIRD

To-day at dawn there twinkled through
The pearly mist a flash of blue
So dazzling bright I thought the sky
Shone through the rifted clouds on high,
Till, by and by,
A note so honey-sweet I heard,
I knew that bright flash was a bird!

THE ORGAN-GRINDER

Hark! I hear the organ-grinder
Coming down the street,
And the sudden clatter-patter
Of the children's feet!

Come, oh, let us run to meet him!
Did you ever hear
Tunes so gay as he is playing,
Or so sweet and clear?

See the brown-faced little monkey,
Impudent and bold,
With his little scarlet jacket
Braided all in gold!

And his tiny cap and tassel
Bobbing to and fro,
Look, oh, look! he plucks it off now,
Bowing very low.

And he's passing it politely—
Can it be for pay?
O dear me! I have no penny!
Let us run away!

THE NEW MOON

Pretty new moon, little new moon,
Now, as first I look at you,
I must make a wish, for wise folks
Say it surely will come true!

Little new moon, pretty new moon,
I wish—but I must not tell!
For if any one should hear it,
Wise folks say it breaks the spell!

SHOWERY TIME

The April rain-drops tinkle
In cuckoo-cups of gold,
And warm south winds unwrinkle
The buds the peach-boughs hold.

In countless fluted creases
The little elm-leaves show,
While white as carded fleeces
The dogwood blossoms blow.

A rosy robe is wrapping
The early red-bud trees;
But still the haws are napping,
Nor heed the honey-bees.

And still in lazy sleeping
The apple-buds are bound,
But tulip-tips are peeping
From out the garden ground.

And yonder, gayly swinging
Upon the turning vane,
A robin redbreast singing
Makes merry at the rain!

EASTER DAY

Christ the Lord is risen to-day!
Angels rolled the stone away
From the tomb wherein He lay!

Little children, come and sing,
"Glory, glory to the King,
Christ the Lord of everything!"

THE SANDMAN

The Sandman! hark, I hear him!
He's coming up the stair,
And everybody near him
Is nodding, I declare!

He's peeping in the door now,
And first of all he spies,
As he has done before now,
The little children's eyes!

Then quickly does he throw it,
His golden sleepy-sand,
And all, before they know it,
Are off for sleepy-land!

DANDELION CURLS

Ah, ha, ha, now! who comes here
Wreathed in flowers of gold and queer
Tiny tangled curls of green
Gayly bobbing in between?

Pretty token of the spring!
Hark! we hear the bluebirds sing
When we thus see little girls
Decked in dandelion curls.

POP-CORN

Pop! Pop!—Poppetty-pop!
Shake and rattle and rattle and shake
The golden grains as they bounce and break
To fluffy puffiness—Poppetty-pop!
Bursting and banging the popper's top!
Poppetty-pop!
Pop! Pop!
The yellow kernels, oh, see them grow
White as cotton or flakes of snow!
Pop! Pop!
O-ho, how they frolic and fly about
And turn themselves suddenly inside out!
Pop-pop-poppetty! Pop-pop-pop!
The popper's full and we'll have to stop;
Pile the bowl with the tempting treat,
Children, come, it is time to eat!

THE RASH LITTLE SPARROW

Rash little sparrow
Up in the nest;
Feathers not long enough,
Wee wings not strong enough!
Poor little sparrow!
Poor little breast!

WHAT IF?

When I see the new moon lightly
Through cloud ripples slip,
Then I'm sure that shining brightly
It's a fairy ship!

What if in it we were sailing
Far and far away,
With a wake of silver trailing,
Till the golden day?

Why, we'd fly back home together
Safely from the sky,
For the moon's a fairy feather
When the sun is high!

EASTER EGGS

Seven little nests of hay
We have made, for Easter day
Is to-morrow, and you know
We must have them ready, so
When the Rabbit comes she'll see
We expected her, that we
Children tried our very best
Each to make the nicest nest.

One is in the lilac-bush,
Near the ground—last year a thrush
Built a nest there—let me see,
Two are by the apple-tree,
In the clover—that makes three—
One beside the playhouse door,
—Three plus one, that must be four—
Two are in the tulip-bed—
Was it seven that I said?
Oh, yes! six I've counted, and
One is in our pile of sand.

Come and see! Oh, hurry, hurry!
For the Rabbit, kind and furry,
Has been here again and laid
Eggs in every nest we made!
Purple, orange, red, and blue,
Pink and green and yellow, too,
Like a bunch of finest flowers
Ever seen, and all are ours!
And oh, look! What do you think!
Here our names are in white ink,
All spelled nicely so we know
Just where every egg should go!
Is it not surprising, quite,
How well Easter Rabbits write?

THE BIRDS' BATH

In our garden we have made
Such a pretty little pool,
Lined with pebbles neatly laid,
Filled with water clean and cool.

THE BIRDS' BATH

When the sun shines warm and high
Robins cluster round its brink,
Never one comes flying by
But will flutter down to drink.

Then they splash and splash and splash,
Spattering little showers bright
All around, till off they flash
Singing sweetly their delight.

NOVEMBER MORNING

A tingling, misty marvel
Blew hither in the night,
And now the little peach-trees
Are clasped in frozen light.

Upon the apple-branches
An icy film is caught,
With trailing threads of gossamer
In pearly patterns wrought.

The autumn sun, in wonder,
Is gayly peering through
This silver-tissued network
Across the frosty blue.

The weather-vane is fire-tipped,
The honeysuckle shows
A dazzling icy splendor,
And crystal is the rose.

Around the eaves are fringes
Of icicles that seem
To mock the summer rainbows
With many-colored gleam.

Along the walk, the pebbles
Are each a precious stone;
The grass is tasseled hoarfrost,
The clover jewel-sown.

Such sparkle, sparkle, sparkle
Fills all the frosty air,
Oh, can it be that darkness
Is ever anywhere!

THE RUNAWAY

A frantic clatter of horses' feet!
A runaway's coming down the street!
Flurry, scurry,
Children, hurry!
Drop your playthings! Quick! don't wait!
Run and get within the gate!
Push the baby in the door,
Scramble in yourselves before
—Whoa! Whoa!
There they go!
Pell-mell rushing, snorting, quaking,
Wagon rumbling, harness breaking,
Frightened so they cannot know
Everybody's shrieking "Whoa!"
O my, don't cry!
Whiz, bang, they've galloped by!
No one hurt, but horses dashed
Round a post and wagon smashed!
Dear me! Dear me!
When a runaway we see,
Children, too, must run, oh, fast!
Run and hide as it goes past!

LOST!

"Peep! Peep! Peep!" Poor little chick!
Little cry so weak and small,
Meadow grass so tall and thick,
And the clover tufts so tall!

Little heart in sore distress,
Longing for the mother wing;
Through the weedy wilderness
Searching for its sheltering!

THE QUEEN'S PAGE

Once I was a little page
To a May-day queen,
And I wore a little coat
Made of Lincoln green.

Oh, the queen was beautiful!
And she had a bright
Crown of golden cuckoo-buds
And violets blue and white.

On the step beside her throne
I sat very still,
Ready, as a page should be,
To obey her will.

And before us little girls,
Each with garlands gay,
Round a May-pole danced and sang
Almost all the day.

OUR TREE-TOAD

Grandfather says the tree-toad,
That to our yard has come,
Is just a little wee toad
No bigger than his thumb!

And that his coat's so queer it
Can turn from green to blue!
Whatever color's near it,
Why, that's its color, too!

And then Grandfather snickers
And says, "Would you suppose
He climbs with little stickers
On all his little toes?

"And don't you wish your toes now
Were fixed like his? For, see,
Right up the elm he goes now
And sticks tight to the tree!"

"But then," he says, "O dear me!
If all the little boys
Could screech as loud, I fear me
There'd be a dreadful noise!"

IN THE WATER-WORLD

Down among the water-weeds,
Darting through the grass,
Round about the tasseled reeds,
See the minnows pass!
See the little turtles there,
Hiding, half asleep,
Tucked in tangled mosses where
Tiny crayfish creep!

Watch the trailing grasses string
Strands of purple shells
That the lazy ripples ring,
Sweet as silver bells;
Watch the sunshine sift and drift
Down the eddy whirls,
Whence the laden whiteweeds lift
Loads of blossom pearls;

While the limpid shadows slip
Softly in between,
And the pussy-willows dip
Lightly in the green
Of the mocking trees that grow
Down the water-sky,
Flecked with fleecy clouds that blow
Where the reed-birds fly.

Oh, such marvels manifold
Fill the summer stream,
Such enticing things untold
Through the ripples gleam,
If you could a moment turn
Into what you wish,
Would it not be fun to be
Yonder little fish?