————————
LEARNING TO PRAY.
A beautiful child was trying to pray;
His cheek on his mother's knee,
His bare little feet half hidden,
His smile still coming unbidden,
And his heart brimful of glee.
"I want to laugh. Is it naughty? Say,
O mamma! I've had such fun to-day,
I hardly can say my prayers—
I don't feel just like praying;
I want to be out-doors playing,
And run, all undressed, down stairs.
"I can see the flowers in the garden bed,
Shining so pretty and sweet and red;
And Sammy is swinging, I guess.
Oh! everything is so fine out there,
I want to put it all in my prayer,
(Do you mean I can do it by 'Yes'?)
"When I say, 'Now I lay me,' word for word,
It seems to me as if nobody heard.
Would 'Thank you, dear God,' be right?
He gave me my mother,
And papa, and brother—
O mamma! you nodded I might."—
Clasping his hands and hiding his face,
Unconsciously yearning for help and grace,
The little one now began.
His mother's nod and sanction sweet
Had led him close to the dear Lord's feet,
And his words like music ran.
"Thank you for making this home so nice,
The flowers, and folks, and my two white mice
(I wish I could keep right on).
I thank you too for every day—
Only I'm 'most too glad to pray
Dear God, I think I am done.
"Now, mamma, rock me—just a minute—
And sing the hymn with 'darling' in it.
I wish I could say my prayers!
When I get big, I know I can,
Oh! won't it be nice to be a man,
And stay all night down stairs!"
The mother, singing, clasped him tight,
Kissing and cooing her fond "Good night,"
And treasured his every word;
For well she knew that the artless joy
And love of her precious, innocent boy
Were a prayer that her Lord had heard.
————————
BENNY'S BUTTONS.
Counting 'em six for a penny?
Why, five on his sacque,
And two on the back,
And—would you believe?—
A pair on each sleeve;
And six on his trowsers,
Yes, regular rousers!
And eight on his vest—
A grand double-breast—
All eight in full sight
When buttoned up tight.
Then three on one shoe,
While the mate has but two;
And one at the end
Of his top-snare, depend.
And, ah! there's the strap
On his regiment-cap,
It begins with a button
And ends with a button;
And really that's all
I now can recall.
So, counting them six for a penny,
How many buttons has Benny?
————————
Out of her half-shut eye?
One of her stars went flying
Across the broad blue sky.
————————
A NURSERY RHYME FOR BIG FOLKS.
Perched high on papa's toe,
Bound for a ride to London town,
On childish journeys go—
For we all go up, up, up,
And all go down, down, down-y,
And all go backward and forward,
And all go round, round, round-y.
Still do we reach for sunbeams,
And learn the rattle's trick.
The great big watch of Father Time—
How we love to hear it tick!
To pat a cake for our Tommy,
And pat a cake for ourself—
For that alone we labor and strive,
And hoard up our golden pelf.
This little pig goes to market;
This little pig stays at home;
And we all cry "Wee!" for our mammy
Wherever we chance to roam.
We seek our bed with Sleepyhead,
We stay a while with Slow;
And fill the pot with Greedy, glad
To sup before we go.
When Jack and Jill go up the hill
To fetch their pail o' water,
As sure as Jack comes tumbling down
Poor Jill comes tumbling arter.
Mistress Marys are still contrary,
Marjorie Daws still sell;
Mother Hubbards ransack their cupboards
For bones for their ne'er-do-well.
Jack Horners in their corners still
Do ply their busy thumb,
And, "What a big boy!" we always cry
Whenever we see the plum.
"What do you want?" "A pot o' beer."
Alack the bitter wrong!
That grenadier an army hath
How many million strong!
Our wise men into brambles still
Do jump with might and main;
And those who go to sea in bowls
Rarely come back again.
And don't some hearts, deploring
The things that gnaw and harrow,
Let fall the wheelbarrow, wife and all,
When lanes are rough and narrow?
Ah yes! the old rhymes suit us
As well as ever they did;
For the gist of our lives, from first to last,
Is under their jingle hid—
As we all go up, up, up,
And all go down, down, down-y,
And all go backward and forward,
And all go round, round, round-y.
————————
FIRE-FLIES.
A shadowy host—how brilliant they are!
Silently flitting, spark upon spark,
Gemming the willows out in the dark;
Waking the night in a twinkling surprise,
Making the starlight pale where they rise;
Snowing soft fire-flakes into the grass,
Lighting the face of each daisy they pass;
Dancing like jewels high up in the pines;
Drowsily poised on the low-swinging vines;
Startling the darkness, over and over,
Where the sly pimpernel kisses the clover;
Suddenly setting their tapers around,
Now on the fences, now on the ground,
Now on the bushes and tree-tops, and then
Pitching them far into darkness again;
There like a shooting-star, slowly on wing,
Here like the flash of a dowagers ring;
Playing their pranks of living and dying
All in an instant, merrily flying;
Setting the dark, croaking hollows a-gleam,
Spangling the gloom of the ghoul-haunted stream;
Sweet in their gentleness, daring, and cheer,
No depth too dark for them, no place too drear;
They pulse and they sparkle, they glimmer and glow,
Teaching a lesson wherever they go:
Ever in gentle souls shineth a light—
Trusting it ever, no gloom can affright.
————————
FULFILLMENT.
"Idle and bare, and weaving naught!
Here have I slept the winter through—
I, with my Master's work to do!"
Started the buds. The blossoms came,
Till all the branches were a-flame.
She rocked the birds and wove the green,
A busy tree as ever was seen.
Busy and blithe, she drank the dew,
She caught the sunbeams gliding through,
She drew her wealth from sky and soil,
And rustled gayly in her toil.
————
With all her fruit a-blushing red;
Knowing her Master's work is done,
She meekly resteth in the sun.
————————
RESOLUTION.
Let me whisper, friend, to you,
Do it.
If you've any thing to say,
True and needed, yea or nay,
Say it.
If you've any thing to love,
As a blessing from above,
Love it.
If you've any thing to give,
That another's joy may live,
Give it.
If some hollow creed you doubt,
Though the whole world hoot and shout,
Doubt it.
If you know what torch to light,
Guiding others through the night,
Light it.
If you've any debt to pay,
Rest you neither night nor day—
Pay it.
If you've any joy to hold,
Next your heart, lest it grow cold,
Hold it.
If you've any grief to meet,
At the loving Father's feet,
Meet it.
If you're given light to see
What a child of God should be,
See it.
Whether life be bright or drear,
There's a message, sweet and clear,
Whispered down to every ear—
Hear it!
————————
HOW THE NEW YEAR CAME.
"Bessie," said Herbert, "have you heard?
It's really true, upon my word.
This year is going away to-night.
Its time is up, they say, and so
At midnight it will have to go.
And, right away, another year
Will come along, a real new year,
As soft as any mouse—
So soft, we'll hardly hear it creep—
Yes, come right to this very house,
While every one's asleep!"
Now, Bessie's eyes grew wide, to hear.
"Let's keep awake," she cried, "and so
We'll see one come and see one go—
Two years at once! Won't that be queer?
Let's tell the New Year it is bad,
We want the one we've always had,
With birds and flowers and things, you know,
And funny ice and pretty snow.
It had my birthday, too, in May,
And yours—when was it? and you know
How it had Fourth o' July one day,
And Christmas. Oh! it mustn't go!"
"Ha! ha!" laughed Herbert, "what a Bess
This year was new when first it came.
The next one will be just the same
As this that's going now, I guess.
That's nothing. But what bothers me
Is how the change is going to be.
I can't see how one year can go
And one can come at midnight, so
All in a minute—that's the bother!
I've heard them say 'the rolling year':
You'd think they'd roll on one another,
Unless they knew just how to steer."
The speck of time 'twixt night and day
Was close at hand. Herbert and Bess
Had won their parents' smiling "yes"
To watch the old year go away.
Nurse on the lounge found easy rest,
Till Bess should come to be undrest;
All but the children were asleep,
And years might roll, or years might creep,
For all they cared; while Bess and Bert,
Who never stirred and scarcely spoke,
Watched the great clock, awake, alert,
All breathless for the coming stroke.
Soon Bessie whispered, "Moll don't care."
Moll was her doll. And Herbert said,
"The clock's so far up overhead
It makes me wink to watch it there,
The great tall thing! Let's look inside!"
And so its door they opened wide:
————————
Bessie's heart with wonder bounded.
How the great round thing that hung
Down the middle, swung and swung!
Tick, a-tick, a-tick, a-tick—
Dear, how loud it was, and quick!
Tick-a, tick-a, tick-a, tick-a!
Surely it was growing quicker!
While the swinging thing kept on,
Back and forth, and never done.
There! It's coming! Loud and clear,
Each ringing stroke the night alarms.
Bess, screaming, hid in Herbert's arms.
"The year!" he cried, "the year! the year!"
"Where?" faltered Bessie, "which? where'bouts?"
But still "The year!" glad Herbert shouts;
And still the steady strokes rang on
Until the banished year was gone.
"We've seen the Old Year out—hurrah!"
"Oh! oh!" sobbed Bessie, "call mamma.
I don't like years to racket so;
It frightens me to hear 'em go!"
But Herbert kissed away her tears,
And, gently soothing all her fears,
He heard the New Year coming quick,
Tick, a-tick, a-tick, a-tick!
————————
THE WIND AND THE MOON.
To a cloud-built cave,
And shut her in
As it were her grave;
The cave threw wide
A silver portal—
And forth she came,
Serene, immortal!
He piled great clouds
With angry might,
Till lost in gloom
Was all her light;
The clouds a moment
Held her under,
Then, glorified,
They burst asunder!
The wind that night
Bemoaned and whistled
Till all the forest
Groaned and bristled,—
To tear-wet pillows,
And chased the gloom
From graveyard willows.
————————
CHILDREN'S HYMN.
Air, "Little Drops of Water."
To the starry night,
Every look and motion
Meets our Father's sight.
From our earliest breathing
To our latest year,
Every sound we utter
Meets our Father's ear.
Through our earthly journey,
Wheresoe'er we go,
Every thought and feeling
Doth our Father know.
Let us then be careful
That our looks shall be
Brave and kind and cheerful,
For our Lord to see.
Let us guard each accent
With a holy fear,
Fit our every saying
For our Lord to hear.
Let no thought within us,
Hidden or confessed,
Ever bring a sorrow
To our dear Lord's breast.
Help us, O our Father!
Hear our earnest plea—
Teach thy little children
How to live for Thee!
HANS BRINKER;
By Mrs. Mary Mapes Dodge,
Author of "Rhymes and Jingles," &c., and Editress of St. Nicholas.
One vol., 12mo, cloth, with Eight Illustrations, $1.50.
Hans Brinker; or, The Silver Skates is one of those stories which is destined to be a source of perennial delight to generation after generation of children. It tells of life in Holland—a country which changes so little that a story of people who lived there twenty years ago might be told of to-day as well, and it is marked throughout by a vivacity, a freshness, and a healthy vigor which goes straight to the heart of every reader whether he be old or young.
From the Nation.
"The authoress has shown, in her former works for the young, a very rare ability to meet their wants; but she has produced nothing better than this charming tale—alive with incident and action, adorned rather than freighted with useful facts, and moral without moralization."
From the Atlantic Monthly.
"'Hans Brinker' is a charming domestic story, which is addressed, indeed, to young people, but which may be read with pleasure and profit by their elders. * * The lessons inculcated, elevated in tone, are in the action of the story and the feelings and aspirations of the actors."
From the Congregationalist.
"For children what could be better as a Christmas gift than a copy of Mrs. Dodge's Hans Brinker; or, the Silver Skates, of which we are now given a new and beautiful edition? This is one of the most charming of juvenile stories, dealing with fresh scenes and a strange life, and told with sweet simplicity and great beauty."
From the Watchman and Reflector.
"It has fine wit and natural pathos, and abounds in sentiments which are inspiring to the heart of any reader, young and old. * * * The character and incidents are of unusual interest. The plot is somewhat intricate, but is managed with a master's skill. The tone is remarkably pure, and the lesson which the story itself presses home on the reader is in the highest degree significant."
From the Cleveland Leader.
"Mrs. Dodge never permits her story to lag, and the bright eyes which have scanned its opening pages will not be content till they have followed the fascinating romance to its close."
From Appleton's Journal.
"A better present to a youngster of the right mind we should find it hard to select."
SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO.,
743 & 745 Broadway, New York.
"Infinite riches in a little room."—Marlowe.
BRIC-A-BRAC SERIES.
Humorists, Artists, Actors, Musicians, and the like.
EDITED BY
RICHARD HENRY STODDARD.
The volumes already issued have insured the Bric-a-Brac Series wide and permanent popularity. New volumes quite as interesting and valuable as those already published will be issued at intervals. It is the aim to gather up in this collection, from the numerous biographies, autobiographies, and memoirs that have lately appeared, all the reminiscences worth preservation of the men and women who have done so much to make this century one of the most brilliant in the annals of English Literature. Occasionally, too, place will be found in the volumes for some of the more notable papers regarding distinguished men and women, which form so important a part of the magazine literature of the day. Each volume will be complete in itself. A careful index will furnish a ready guide to the contents of the different volumes, in which, under the capable editorship of Mr. R. H. Stoddard, it may safely be asserted there will be brought together a fund of choice and fresh anecdote and gossip, enough not only to justify the general title of the Series, but the line of Marlowe which has been selected as its motto, "Infinite riches in a little room."
Just issued:
PERSONAL REMINISCENCES BY O'KEEFFE, KELLY, AND TAYLOR.
PERSONAL REMINISCENCES BY CORNELIA KNIGHT AND THOMAS RAIKES.
PERSONAL REMINISCENCES BY MOORE AND JERDAN.
THE GREVILLE MEMOIRS: A Journal of the Reigns of Kings George the Fourth and William the Fourth.
PERSONAL REMINISCENCES BY BARHAM, HARNESS, AND HODDER.
PROSPER MÉRIMÉE'S LETTERS TO AN INCOGNITA; with RECOLLECTIONS BY LAMARTINE AND GEORGE SAND.
ANECDOTE BIOGRAPHIES OF THACKERAY AND DICKENS.
PERSONAL REMINISCENCES BY CHORLEY, PLANCHÉ, AND YOUNG.
Sent to any address, post-paid, upon receipt of the price, by
New York.
Transcriber's Notes:
Punctuation errors repaired. Some of the titles of the poems were in the page headers. These have been added to the text above the poems. Varied hyphenation was retained for example as in live-long and livelong.
Page 247, "litttle" changed to "little" (And poor little)