"Smiles": A Book of Recitations for Girls

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Title: "Smiles": A Book of Recitations for Girls

Author: Alice Lewis Richards

Release date: August 25, 2012 [eBook #40576]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Greg Bergquist, David E. Brown and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK "SMILES": A BOOK OF RECITATIONS FOR GIRLS ***

"WINKS"

A BOOK OF RECITATIONS FOR BOYS

"THOUGHTS"

A BOOK OF READINGS FOR THE
GIRLS AND BOYS IN TEENS

ALICE LEWIS RICHARDS

LAILA'S SMILES

"SMILES"

A BOOK OF RECITATIONS
FOR GIRLS

ALICE LEWIS RICHARDS

AKRON, OHIO
1900

PREFACE

IN WRITING this little book of recitations it has been the aim of the author to help fill a long-felt want, namely: A work written especially for children; with recitations suitable for all occasions, that will please the children.

Any little girl can find in this book "some piece to speak," from the time she learns to talk until the time shall arrive for her to lay away her dollies for other joys that come with later years.

A. L. R.

My daughter, Laila Myrtle,
Though your years are only few,
This book of "Mama's Poems"
I dedicate to you.

Some were written while you slumbered,
Some were written while you played;
Some the Muses brought to mama
While at grandma's you have stayed.

Some were written for your pleasure
"'Cause you always liked to speak,"
So I penned "Only a Sparrow,"
That the moral you might teach.

When you are grown, my daughter,
And back upon your childhood look,
Oh! how sweet will be the memories
Of the writing of this book!

CONTENTS

	PAGE
Robin's Return	11
Papa's Best Girl	14
Does Jesus Know	15
Lila's Conclusion	17
Emma's Ideal	20
Alice's Choice	22
What Janie Thinks	24
Myrtle's Letter	27
Only a Sparrow	29
May's Apple-Tree	32
Teaching a Lesson	34
The Little Crib Bed	38
Robin's Farewell	40
The Foolish Flowers	43
Grandpa and Pet	46
When I Was a Baby	49
Dot's New Leaf	51
Dreaming, Sweetly Dreaming	53
The Snowdrop's Call	55
When Brother Was a Sister	57
We're Only Little Children	61
A Dream of Easter	62
Mother Robin	64
Mabel Gray	67
The Naughty Crow	69
The Birds' Good-Night	70
Santa's Queer Joke	72
Little Sunbeams	76
Where Do Babies Go	77
When My Kitty Was a Kitten	80
The Busy Little Housekeeper	82
Grandma's Pocket	84
What Good Is a Brother	86
Mr. Hop-Toad	89
Minnie's Secret	90
Nellie's Easter Eggs	92
When Dolly Was Sick	95
Auntie's Parlor	98
Off to School We Go	100
Clarabel's Valentine	102
Thanksgiving at Grandma's	105
Dolly Days	109
That Giggle	112
Marion's Lament	113
When I'm a Big Girl	114
What the Bells Said	116
Why	118
Because	120
How Hazel Kept House	122
Drops of Honey	125
When My Dolly Went to School	126
Three Little Kittens	128
The Spider's Parlor	129
Mother Goose's Dinner Party	132
Olive's Advice	136
The Old and The New	137
Pa's Ways	139
The Spider and the Bee	142
Kitty Bell	143
The Birds' Party	145
January	148
February	149
March	150
April	151
May	152
June	153

Little girls with sunny smiles,
Little girls with happy whiles,
When you through these pages look,
I hope you will enjoy your book.

ROBIN'S RETURN

A robin came one day in spring,
From South he flew with tired wing;
He looked around him then to see
An old familiar cherry-tree.

There grew one by the kitchen door,
Redbreast had seen that one before;
He flew about, then lit up high,
And watched to see some one pass by.

A girl came through the kitchen door,
Her years, I think, just numbered four;
She saw Redbreast, and called to him,
As he perched upon that cherry limb:—

"Oh, sweet robin! When did you come?
Are you hungry? Do you want a crumb?
Are you thirsty? Do you want a drink?
You must be very tired, I think.

"Say, Sir Robin, why don't you sing?
Or don't you know that this is spring?
Where have you been this winter long?
I missed, so much, your little song!"

"I flew about in a sunny clime,
Singing my 'cheer-up!' most the time.
And what did you, my little maid,
While I down South this winter stayed?"

"When Christmas came we had a tree,
And that was nice for Lisle and me;
'Twas hung so full of things all new,
I wish that you had seen it too.

"I got some blocks and he a drum,
I tell you then we had some fun!
We got some dolls and whistles too,
And then we played, and then we blew.

"We got a sled and went to slide;
We went to town and had a ride;
We popped some corn when days were cold,
And ate as much as we could hold.

"One doll got sick and had the croup,
Another coughed with dreadful whoop;
And so, Redbreast, I think you'll see
I've been as busy as I could be.

"And now, Redbreast, where is your mate?
What made her stay down South so late?
Why don't she come to build her nest,
And lay some eggs, and sit and rest?"

"Oh, she'll come soon, and then you'll see
We'll build right here in this same tree,
And here we'll stay till cherries are gone,
And then sing you a parting song."

PAPA'S BEST GIRL

I'm mama's little baby,
I'm grandpa's little lady,
I'm uncle's little trouble,
I'm auntie's little bubble,
But, I'm papa's best girl.

DOES JESUS KNOW?

When the Easter chimes are ringing,
And the church choir gladly singing,
Of that Easter long ago;
When we sing the old, old story,
How He rose from death to glory,
How I wonder! does Jesus know?

When we're singing of His dying,
And our music turns to sighing
O'er His suffering and His woe;
When we're singing of the morrow,
That will never more bring sorrow,
How I wonder! does Jesus know?

When we're singing of the flowers,
And of springtime and the showers
That doth make the grasses grow;
When our songs are all of praises
For the lilies and the daisies,
How I wonder! does Jesus know?

Does He hear us when we're singing?
Does He hear the church bells ringing
As they're swinging to and fro?
Does He hear us when we're praying?
Does He hear what we are saying?
How I wonder! does Jesus know?

Yes, up in that land of glory,
Where no one is ever sorry,
All our heavenly music goes.
So no longer will I wonder
If He hears us way up yonder,
For I'm sure that Jesus knows.

LILA'S CONCLUSION

You may talk about old Santa Claus,
With his sleigh and fleeting deer;
You may tell about his furry coat
And the jingling bells you hear.

You may talk about the Christmas trees
Which he loads with lots of toys;
You may tell about the dolls and sleds
That he brings for girls and boys.

You may picture him in story-books.
With a beard that's long and white;
You may paint him when he's going down
Through the chimneys in the night.

You may tell the story o'er and o'er
Just the way 'twas told to you;
And I've listened to it often,
But I've learned it isn't true.

You may write about his pretty deer,
As they climb upon the roofs,
But it's very plain to any one
That they can't climb up with hoofs.

And I know that Santa never went
Down a chimney in the night,
For they all are dark and small around,
And they'd squeeze him awful tight.

If he ever did get into one,
Then he never could get out,
For they picture him in story-books
With a form that's broad and stout.

Then he can't come through the outside doors,
For the bolts and locks are there;
Nor he can't get through the cellar door
To climb the cellar stair.

Nor he never could get over all
This whole world in a night,
To fill the little stockings up,
And get home before it's light.

Then no one ever seems to know
Where the dear old fellow dwells;
And no-one ever saw his sleigh,
Nor heard his jingling bells.

I've looked the maps all through and through,
But his home I cannot find;
So at last I've concluded this:
That he's only "in your mind."

And this pretty little tale you tell
To the babies may be told;
But 'twill hardly do for me to hear,
For I've grown too big and old.

EMMA'S IDEAL

I like to see a handsome boy,
With good and honest face;
The one who has a twinkling eye
And form of manly grace.

I like to see him go to school,
And like to see him play;
But much, I fear, of what he does
Is time just thrown away.

I much admire the little man
Who brings the coal and wood;
And helps his mama when she's tired,
As every good boy should.

I like the boy who never steals
The pie upon the shelf;
And never hunts the cookies up
To eat them all himself.

I like the boy who heeds advice,
And does as he should do;
And so I like the thoughtful lad
Who's good to sister too.

And thus you see my views are plain,
And when I older grow
I sometimes think—I guess—may be—
That I—shall have—a beau.

But he must be the model lad,
Who does not chew nor swear;
And he must be a temperance boy,
Who goes not on a tear.

He must not speak of parents dear,
Regardless of respect;
He must not call them fogies old,
Nor their advice reject.

And so the one that I will take,
And love him as a brother,
Will be the good, old-fashioned boy,
Who always minds his mother.

ALICE'S CHOICE

I'd ruther be a little girl
An' have a lovely doll,
Than be a boy with a pistol toy,
Or have a bat an' ball.

I'd ruther be a little girl,
'Cause they are sweeter far
Than all the boys with all their noise,
No differns who they are.

For little girls is always good,
An' try to do their part;
But boys will shirk their share of work,
An' think they're acting smart.

An' little boys is naughty too,
An' often tease us girls,
About our dresses an' our tresses,
An' pull our pretty curls.

They laugh at us jess 'cause we cry
When we gits hurt at play;
But we don't care,—they do their share
Of cryin' every day.

They calls us little "frady-calves,"
'Cause we's afeard of mice,
An' dogs, an' cats, an' snakes, an' rats,
An' other things not nice.

But we'd ruther all be little girls,
An' let them call us babies,
Than all the boys with pistol toys,
For they don't grow to ladies.

WHAT JANIE THINKS

I'd like to see old Santa Claus
And find out who he really was.

I think 'twould be a pretty sight
To see him coming in the night.

And watch him on the housetops ride,
Then see him down the chimneys glide.

I think it's very, very queer
The way he comes round every year.

For no one ever sees or knows
Just how he comes or how he goes.

And how he can so quiet be,
Is the very strangest part to me.

But Christmas morn, in early dawn,
We're sure to find he's come and gone;

For there upon our Christmas tree
Are toys for brothers and for me.

But not a mark, or not a track,
Does he ever leave when going back.

And so I've wondered many a time
How Santa could the chimney climb.

I think 'twould be a better way
To travel round by light of day;

Than go a-prowling round at night
Like burglars do, to keep from sight.

Then little children all could see
Who their good Santa Claus might be.

And then we'd know, without being told,
If Santa Claus was young or old.

If he was fat, or very thin,
If he had whiskers on his chin.

If he was short or very tall—
Why, girls like us would know it all.

Then how much nicer it would be
For him to come when we could see,

Than always come when we're asleep,
So none of us at him can peep.

I think I'll write him just a line
And say: "Please come some other time;

"For I don't think it looks just right
For you to always come at night."

MYRTLE'S LETTER

I think I will write to old Santa,
And ask for a few little things;
And then I will try to be patient,
And wait to see what he brings.

I'll write him to bring me a dolly,
With eyes of a beautiful brown,
With hair that is all in gold ringlets,
And dressed in a beautiful gown.

I'll ask him to bring me a buggy,
To take my new dolly to ride;
I'll ask for a cunning, swift runner,
So dolly can go out to slide.

I'll write him to bring me a banjo,
A harp, and a cute little drum;
I'll wish for a sweet-toned organ
And a whole big box full of gum.

I want him to bring a wee table,
That is made for girlies like me;
And a set of little blue dishes,
So I can have company to tea.

I'll hint that I need some new dresses,
For mine are all faded and old;
I'll tell him I need some new mittens,
To wear when the weather is cold.

But maybe I'd better stop wishing,
And finish my letter with care,
For fear dear old Santa may fancy
I'm asking for more than my share.

I'll write him my stocking is hanging
Right close to my head, on the wall;
I'll tell him the right way to manage
In case that my stocking's too small.

I'll tell him to look in the corner,
At the foot of the bed, he'll see
A place that I think is just lovely
To fasten a cute little tree.

ONLY A SPARROW

A sparrow flew to my window one day,
And in a bird's way he began there to say:
"Chirp, chirp, little girl, please listen to me
I'm hungry and cold as a sparrow can be!

"I'd like a small crumb or something to eat,
And may I come in and warm my poor feet?
They're almost frozen out here in the snow;
So kind little girl, please do not say no."

I listened to him and then shook my head;
And to that poor sparrow I saucily said:
"Well, Mr. Sparrow, if your story is true,
I don't think I'll trouble myself about you.

"You're a plain-looking bird with a dirty old coat,
And you never once sang a sweet little note
So, Mr. Sparrow, you may just fly along,
For I feed none but birds of beauty and song."

"But think, little girl, were you a bird like me,
And were out in the cold with your home in a tree,
And you came to my house in the cold, deep snow,
Would you think it were kind if I treated you so?

"Would you think it quite right to be twitted that way,
Just because of your coat was not handsome and gay?
Would you think it would be nice if you could not sing
To be counted as naught but a poor useless thing?

"I know I'm not handsome, and my chirp is not sweet,
I know I'm not loved by the most that I meet;
But I'm just as God made me, a plain little bird,
And have, in this world, a right to be heard.

"And the birds of great beauty you like to see,
In the sight of our Maker are no better than me.
So I bid you adieu, my proud little miss,
But some time I pray you will just think of this:

"That kind little deeds by a good little child
So often will tame a nature that's wild.
Then always be kind and never be rude,
And hold to your tongue in an angry mood."

Then he nodded his head and flew far away,
And I saw him no more that cold winter day.
But, oh! how sorry and grieved was I then,
When I saw how very unkind I had been.

He was only a sparrow, so humble and plain,
But the lesson he taught me will always remain.
As I journey through life I shall keep it in mind,
And never again will I act so unkind.

MAY'S APPLE-TREE

One April day
Our little May
Did plant an apple-tree;
Although 'twas slow,
She watched it grow
Until its years were three.

She oft would say,
In her sweet way,
"How tall you going to be?
I'd like to know
If you can grow
To be as big as me?"

So one Spring day
When little May
Stood by her apple-tree;
What do you think?
Some buds in pink
Were there for her to see.

She laughed in glee
Those buds to see,
And smelt their sweet perfume;
And blossoms white
Were soon in sight,
Upon the tree in bloom.

Then apples green
So soon were seen,
As round as they could be;
And so they grew
In sun and dew
Upon her apple-tree.

Then May did eat
The apples sweet,
As nice as they could be;
Then little May
Had her full pay
For planting that one tree.

TEACHING A LESSON

They were gazing through the window,
On a cold December day,
At the pretty toys for children,
That were shown in fine array.

One was robed in richest raiment,
With a face so bright and glad;
One was dressed in poorest garments,
With a face so wan and sad.

While they gazed upon the window,
Said the rich one to the poor:
"Ain't it nice that Christmas is coming,
For that brings old Santa sure.

"Oh! he's going to bring a dolly,
And a lovely Christmas tree,
And some toys and nuts and candy
And some story-books for me.

"Don't you know what he will bring you?—
Lots of pretty toys, I guess!
And a cloak and pair of mittens,
And, perhaps, a pretty dress."

But the little child made answer,
With a deep, unbidden sigh:
"Santa never comes to see me,
And I never knew just why.

"Nor I don't have pretty playthings
Like some other children do;
Nor the toys and nuts and candy
That old Santa brings to you.

"For we live down in an alley,
In a house that's poor and old;
And we scarcely can keep warm
When the nights are chill and cold.

"And my mama sews to keep us,
So it's all that she can do
With the little that she's earning
Just to feed and clothe us two.

"So, perhaps, that's why old Santa
Never knocks upon our door,
'Cause he don't care for the children
Of the people who are poor."

To the little child of plenty,
'Twas a story strange, but true,
That her Santa was so partial,
And would give to such a few.

Home she ran and told her mama
All the story, strange and sad:
"He's a naughty, naughty Santa,
So I'll make the children glad.

"I will just make up some bundles
Of the things he brings to me,
Then I'll play that I am Santa,
With a pretty Christmas tree.

"And I'll go down the alley
And that little girl I'll find;
That will teach him such a lesson!
One, I think, he'll always mind.

"Then I'll write a different letter
From the ones he's had before;
And I'll tell him it's his duty
Just to stop at every door.

"That, I guess, will set him thinking
All about his conduct here;
Then the poor he will remember
When he comes another year."

So out went the little Santa
With the bundles from her tree;
And she passed not by a doorway
Where she found that want might be.

And the lesson for old Santa
In her childish way she taught
To the selfish ones about her,
Who for others had no thought.

THE LITTLE CRIB BED

There's a little crib bed that is unused now,
And is stowed in the garret with care;
For the wee baby girl that slept in that bed
Will never again dream there.

There's a little old pillow of matted down,
But no more 'twill be tumbled at night;
For the little babe's head that rested there
Now sleeps on a pillow more light.

There's a little odd quilt of an ancient style,
That was pieced from the dresses she wore;
But it lies in the bed now undisturbed,
For the baby will kick it no more.

So this little crib bed is stowed away now,
And the pillow is minus its case;
And the little, odd quilt, now faded and old,
Is neatly tucked in its place.

In memory again we only shall see
The babe in her little, snug fold;
But we treasure the bed, with pillow and quilt,
For the baby it used to hold.

Yet how happy the times in the olden days,
When the baby was sung off to sleep,
And the sweet curls lay on the pillow of down,
With the quilt tucked over her feet.

But the baby has gone to a chamber above,
That is furnished in colors of light;
And the bed where she rests is one of ease,
With a cover all spotless and white.

In her picture again we only shall see
The ringlets of gold on her head;
For her hair—is done up and she's grown too tall
To sleep in that little crib bed.

ROBIN'S FAREWELL

A robin had come to bid me good-by,
And up in a tree had perched himself high;
He seemed not to mind that the day was cold,
But sang his sweet song the same as of old.

The morning was drear and leafless the tree,
But dear old robin! so happy was he!
I said to him, "Robin, why do you wait?
It seems to me you are staying too late.

"The weather is cold, the flowers are dead,
The trees all their leaves have long ago shed;
You'd better be going before the snow comes,
Or hungry you'll be, and looking for crumbs.

"And old Jack Frost will be after your feet,
Then you'll need your wing to cover your beak.
So, Robin, please hurry away, or you'll freeze
If you stay around here in the leafless trees."

But robin sang on, and, nodding his head,
"Don't worry for me," he knowingly said,
"I'm not a bit 'fraid of Jack or the snow,
That's why I have been in no hurry to go.

"It won't take me long to fly away there,
Where trees are all green and balmy the air;
It's just a nice trip for this time of year,
And I've made it before, so I haven't a fear."

"But, Robin, you know that the rain might fall,
And the day might end in a dreadful squall;
So I cannot see why you have been so slow,
For the rest have flown there long ago.

"Say, what do you do in that far sunny clime?
Does Santa Claus come there at Christmas time?
You cannot go coasting, or skating on ice,
So I don't think the South can be very nice."

"When you are watching for Santa Claus' sleigh,
He travels down South in a far differ'nt way.
In a great air ship, with fairies for guides,
From chimney to chimney he quietly rides.

"When you are coasting adown some hill,
I'll be drinking from some rippling rill;
When you are freezing your feet on your skates,
I'll be sailing o'er beautiful lakes.

"When you are making a man out of snow,
I'll be tending some wild-flower show;
When you are trying your best to keep warm,
I'll be away from Jack Frost's harm.

"But now I am going to say good-by,
So, dear little girl, for me do not cry.
I'll not be afraid though the journey is long,
For my body is warm and my wings are strong.

"But if I grow tired and think 'twill be best,
I'll stop on the way and take a short rest;
And in the glad spring I'll come flying back,
And others will follow right on in my track.

"So watch for my coming and list for my song,
For winter is short and you won't wait long";
Then he sang unto me a robin's adieu,
And opened his wings and southward he flew.

THE FOOLISH FLOWERS

Miss Chrysanth'um gave a party
On a cool October night,
And invited in the flowers
That had tender buds in sight.

Then she whispered to the Pansy
That old Jack was coming soon,
And he'd nip her tender budlets
If she left them out to bloom.

Then she told the grand Nasturtium,
That was climbing up the wall,
That if Jack should overtake her
She was sure to have a fall.

And she said to Miss Petunia:
"You must find a hiding-place,
For if Jack should chance to kiss you
He would spoil your pretty face."

And the other summer flowers,
That were blooming rather late,
She told them all to hide away,
Or they'd meet a frosty fate.

So they put their heads together,
All the flowers that were wise,
And they planned to fool old Jack
With his sparkling, piercing eyes.

But the flowers that were foolish,
When she bade them take advice,
Shook their heads of flowery beauty
And they laughed at frost and ice.

Miss Chrysanth'um helped the wise ones
In the plans that they had laid:
So they gathered leaves of maple,
And some coverlets then made.

When old Jack came stealing onward,
With the stars all shining bright,
Not a flower among the wise ones
Was there left to greet his sight.

All were hidden under covers
Made from leaves of Autumn's gold;
And Jack then failed to find them
Though he was so sharp and old.

But the Marigold was laughing,
When he chanced to pass her by;
And Nasturtium still was climbing
O'er the wall so old and high.

Then he blew his breath upon them
And they both began to sneeze;
Soon the tender buds and blossoms
Of the flowers began to freeze.

When the sun shone out next morning
O'er the pretty flower-bed,
All the wise ones were rejoicing
But the foolish ones—were dead.

GRANDPA AND PET

Grandpa was holding his pet on his lap,
Grandpa and pet were taking a nap.

Off in far dreamland were grandpa and May,
Looking for goodies for Thanksgiving Day.

Jogging along, he was holding her hand,
Viewing the sights in funny dreamland.

Looking for turkeys, dressed up in gowns,
Shooing at goblins wearing bright crowns.

Smiling at puddings a-walking on legs,
Laughing at dumplings a-sitting on pegs.

Onward and onward went grandpa and May,
Looking for goodies for Thanksgiving Day.

Hunting for turkeys stuffed and roasted,
Longing for bread buttered and toasted.

'Round and 'round went grandpa and May,
Hungry as two little children at play.

Finding at last a table all spread,
Grandpa and May sat down at the head.

Looking it o'er some goodies they spied,
"See! Grandpa, see!" little May cried:

"There's a turkey stuffed and roasted!
There's some bread buttered and toasted!

"There's some dumplings sitting on pegs!
There's a pudding standing on legs!

"There's a clock that's mountains high,
Reaching up against the sky!"

Soon the clock began to chime,
Everything marched off in line.

'Round and 'round in giddy whirl,
Passed the man and little girl.

Pet and grandpa watched them all,
Wond'ring that they did not fall.

He helped himself and little May,
As the turkey came their way;

Piled their plates up full and high,
As the rest came marching by.

Just as grandpa took a bite,
Sleeping pet then moved a mite,

Slipped and fell from grandpa's lap,
Right then ended grandpa's nap.

Back from dreamland came the two,
Sorry that their trip was through.

WHEN I WAS A BABY

When I was a baby
They said I was "sweet";
I'd such dimpled hands
And soft, little feet.

My head, it was bald,
My teeth had not come;
But then just the same
I chewed my own gum.

My eyes they were blue,
My lips they were thin,
My cheeks they were dimpled,
And so was my chin.

I was very good-natured,
Full of frolic and fun;
And they said I was "cute"
For a baby so young.

And when I grew older
I learned how to talk;
And soon after creeping,
I learned how to walk.

I trotted about
Most all of the day;
And got into mischief
When I wasn't in play.

I've kept on growing
And now am quite tall
And think it much nicer
Than being so small.

I'm growing much older
And soon will be eight;
And so long to grow big
I scarcely can wait.

DOT'S NEW LEAF

As Dot sat by the fire one night,
She thought of times gone past;
Of summer days, of romps, and plays,
Of school, and its hard task.

She thought of times of misspelled words,
And numbers hard to sum,
Of tardy lines, and awful times,
And scales she could not run.

So Dot resolved that winter night,
The new year she would try
To study well, and learn to spell,
And sing the scale up high.

So when began the winter term,
And Dot went off to school,
She with the rest then tried her best
To learn each little rule.

Though little Dot meant all she said,
Somehow 'twas hard to do;
'Twas greater fun to slide or run
Than multiply by two.

The seat grew hard, the teacher cross,
And lessons harder got;
"I'd rather skate than use my slate,"
So mused poor little Dot.

When time wore on to balmy days,
With sunshine and with showers;
She stayed away from school, to play
And gather wild-wood flowers.

So when, at last, the school was closed,
She dropped behind the class;
For little Dot, her leaf forgot,
And then she did not pass.

DREAMING, SWEETLY DREAMING

I have tucked away my dollies
All so snugly in their bed,
And I listened to the prayers
That my little dollies said.
Oh, they were so tired and sleepy,
For they played so many hours;
But now they're dreaming, sweetly dreaming,
Of the birds and pretty flowers.

They have played among the daisies,
And among the lilies too;
They were romping in the clover,
And were picking violets blue.
They have chased the shining sunbeams
That came flitting from the skies;
But now they're dreaming, sweetly dreaming,
Of the birds and butterflies.

They have picked the blushing roses,
And have kissed the starry bells,
And found the sweet forget-me-nots
Where they bloom in flowery dells.
They have romped among the grasses
That were fanned by evening breeze,
But now they're dreaming, sweetly dreaming,
Of the birds and humming bees.

When the stars have ceased to twinkle,
And the sky is bright and clear;
When the sun is up and shining,
And the dewdrops disappear;
When the little fish are swimming,
Swimming in the sunny streams,
Then my dollies will be waking,
Waking from their happy dreams.

THE SNOWDROP'S CALL

"Come, wake up," said the Snowdrop
To a Crocus sleeping nigh,
"The sun is brightly shining,
And there's blue up in the sky.

"The snow has left the hill tops,
And the frost is going too;
So it's time that you were waking,
For to show your face of blue.

"Come, Daffodil, I'm calling;
You are sleeping much too long;
For the bluebirds are returning,
And I've heard the robin's song.

"The South wind is gently blowing,
For I heard it 'mongst the trees
And the Hyacinth is waking
To perfume the gentle breeze.

"Come, Jonquil, do not linger!
For the morn is passing fast;
If you soon are not awaking,
You will surely be the last."

The Crocus 'woke up quickly
When she heard the Snowdrop's call;
And put forth her face of blue
When the snow began to fall.

She shivered in the snowflakes
That fell about her feet;
Then was sorry she was wakened
From her winter's quiet sleep.

"You have called us all too early,"
Said the sleepy Daffodil,
"For the North wind still is blowing,
And the nights are cold and chill."

Then they all dropped back to slumber
Till the days some warmer grew;
Then their winter nap was ended,
And they 'woke and blossomed too.

WHEN BROTHER WAS A SISTER

When brother was a little girl,
She never wore her hair in curl;

But she was very good and sweet,
And had the "cutest" dimpled feet!

Her little hands were soft and white,
And so she kept them day and night.

Her dimpled cheeks were pretty too,
In rosy tints of nature's hue.

And oh! such happy times had we,
My little sister Lisle and me.

We sometimes kept a little store,
And sold our playthings o'er and o'er.

And through the long, long summer day,
Upon the lawn we used to play.

We played with dishes and with dolls,
With dolly cabs and rubber balls.

She helped to wash the dishes too,
Like little sisters always do.

And in her sorrows I could share,
For sister was my only care.

And with a loving sister's arm
I used to shield her from all harm.

Then life for me was all a joy
Before Lisle turned into a boy.

But Time flies on his changing wings,
And many curious changes brings.

The creeping worm becomes a fly,
And wings his way toward the sky.

The golden egg within the nest,
Becomes a chick with downy breast.

The pollywog becomes a frog,
And croaks within his hidden bog.

And little sisters turn to boys,
And leave their dolls for warlike toys

Then Time brought me the saddest day,
When sister's frocks were laid away.

The little cloak and bonnet too
Were changed for cap and coat of blue.

And for the girl with sweetest face—
A boy had stepped into her place.

A boy! and oh, so changed is he!
From the little girl he used to be.

The dimpled feet are brown and bare,
And rough and tumbled is his hair.

The rosy cheeks of nature's hue—
Sometimes they're black, sometimes they're blue.

The little hands so soft and white—
With dirt begrimed, they are a sight.

Now through the long, long summer days,
Upon the coalhouse roof he plays.

And on the roof he sits and fishes,
And never helps me wash the dishes.

He scorns the sister's loving arm
That used to shield him from all harm;

And for my loving, watchful care,
He turns his nose up in the air.

Oh! I wish he'd never turned into a boy,
To bring such woe instead of joy;

But stayed a little girl like me,
For then my life would happier be.

WE'RE ONLY LITTLE CHILDREN

We're only little children,
And not so very wise;
So don't expect too much,
And do not criticise.

We came here for your pleasure,
And 'twould be hardly right
If we should make mistakes,
For you to laugh to-night.

So won't you kindly listen,
And patience try to keep?
Don't whisper to each other,
Nor yawn and go to sleep.

We're only little children,
But think, when we are through,
You big folks all will say
We did as well as you.

A DREAM OF EASTER

When Nell her evening prayer had said,
And climbed into her snowy bed,
She closed her little weary eyes,
To dream of wonders in the skies,
And dream of days of long ago,
When her dear Savior was laid low.

She saw Him nailed upon the cross,
And heard poor Mary grieve her loss,
Then saw Him laid within the tomb,
Where all was dark as midnight gloom;
And saw the loved ones turn away
From where their dear, dead Savior lay.

She heard an earthquake's rumbling sound,
And felt the shaking of the ground,
Then saw a white-robed angel band
Descend to earth from heaven land;
And at the breaking of the day,
She saw one roll the stone away.

A glorious light dispelled the gloom
That reigned within the Savior's tomb;
And forth He came, in garments white,
Amid the morning stars of light;
A shining crown was on his head,
For He had risen from the dead.

The band of angels sweetly sang
Until the tomb with music rang;
The birds cooed softly in the trees,
And sweet perfume was on the breeze;
The sun arose in splendor bright,
To shed o'er earth his beaming light

When Nell awoke within her bed,
"It is our Easter morn," she said,
"Such visions fair in sleep I've seen,
For Jesus rose up in my dream.
Out from the tomb I saw Him rise
And pass beyond the heavenly skies;
And with a band of angels fair,
He went to heaven to dwell up there."

MOTHER ROBIN

A robin was sitting high up in a tree,
And was happy as ever a robin could be;
In a nice little nest that was built by two,
She was sitting on four small eggs of blue.

Her mate on a limb was sitting close nigh,
And thinking of birds that would come by-and-by.
He always kept near that little home-nest,
And often would sit to give his mate rest.

When she grew tired of waiting so long,
He would cheer her up with a sweet little song.
In a very short time her sitting was o'er,
And the birds in her nest numbered just four.

A sweet little girl lived near to this tree,
Who was happy as ever a girl could be;
She had a nice doll, that had a nice swing,
That had hung in this tree since early in spring.

One day she was swinging her doll to and fro,
Mother Robin was peeking at her below;
She said: "Little girl, little girl, look up to me,
I've four little birdies for you to see."

"O Mother Robin, I'm glad they have come!
I'll go right now and bring you a crumb;
I'll bring one for your mate and each of the four,
And when supper is ready I'll bring you some more."

"All right, little girl, I wish that you would,
I'm glad to see you so thoughtful and good;
But I wish you would keep old Tabby away,
For I know she was gazing up here to-day."

"O Mother Robin, you must have no alarm!
For Tabby, I'm sure, will do you no harm;
She's a good old cat and minds what I say,
But I'll tell her again not to come this way.

"Will you give me a birdie? one of your four,
I only want one and not any more;
I have a nice cage I could hang in the tree,
And birdie, I know, would be happy with me."

"Oh, no; little girl, it never will do
To part with my birdie and give her to you;
She never could live shut up in a cage,
And my mate, I fear, would fly in a rage.

"Will you give me your doll? I'd like to have one
For my little birdies, you know they have none;
When they get older they'll all want to play,
And I've room by my nest to tuck her away."

"Oh, no; Mother Robin, my dolly would cry,
If she lived in a nest that was up so high;
When the wind blew my dolly would fall,
Then down would come birdies, nest, and all.

"So I'll keep my dolly, for I think it is best,
And you keep your birds till they fly from the nest;
They will be happier, I know, to be free,
And my dolly's contented to stay here with me."

"Smiles": A Book of Recitations for Girls

About This Book

The Project Gutenberg eBook of "Smiles": A Book of Recitations for Girls