| A MORNING SONG |
My God, who makes the sun to know His proper hour to rise, And, to give light to all below, Doth send him round the skies. When from the chambers of the east His morning race begins, He never tires, nor stops to rest, But round the world he shines. So, like the sun, would I fulfill The business of the day; Begin my work betimes, and still March on my heavenly way. Give me, O Lord, Thine early grace, Nor let my soul complain, That the young morning of my days Has all been spent in vain. |
| --Isaac Watts. |
MADONNA OF THE ANGELS
By Adolph Bouguereau (1825-1905)
"The mother with the Child,
Whose tender winning arts Have to His little arms beguiled So many wounded hearts." |
| --Matthew Arnold |
| AN EVENING SONG |
And now another day is gone,
I'll sing my Maker's praise; My comforts every hour make known His providence and grace. But how my childhood runs to waste! My sins, how great their sum! Lord, give me pardon for the past, And strength for days to come. I lay my body down to sleep, Let angels guard my head; And, through the hours of darkness, keep Their watch around my bed. With cheerful heart I close my eyes, Since Thou wilt not remove; And in the morning let me rise, Rejoicing in Thy love. |
| --Isaac Watts. |
| THE SLUGGARD |
'T is the voice of the Sluggard: I heard him complain,
"You have waked me too soon! I must slumber again!" As a door on its hinges, so he on his bed Turns his sides, and his shoulders, and his heavy head. "A little more sleep and a little more slumber!" Thus he wastes half his days and his hours without number; And when he gets up he sits folding his hands, Or walks about sauntering, or trifling he stands. I pass'd by his garden and saw the wild brier, The thorn and the thistle grow broader and higher; The clothes that hang on him are turning to rags, And his money still wastes, till he starves or he begs. I made him a visit, still hoping to find He had took better care for improving his mind: He told me his dreams, talked of eating and drinking; But he scarce reads his Bible, and never loves thinking. Said I then to my heart, "Here's a lesson for me! That man's but a picture of what I might be; But thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding, Who have taught me betimes to love working and reading." |
| --Isaac Watts. |
THE DIVINE SHEPHERD
By Murillo (1618-1682)
| PRAISE FOR MERCIES, SPIRITUAL AND TEMPORAL |
Whene'er I take my walks abroad, How many poor I see! What shall I render to the Lord For all His gifts to me! Not more than others I deserve, Yet God hath given me more; For I have food, while others starve, Or beg from door to door. How many children in the street Half naked I behold! While I am clothed from head to feet And cover'd from the cold. While some poor wretches scarce can tell Where they may lay their head, I have a home wherein to dwell, And rest upon my bed. While others early learn to swear, And curse, and lie, and steal; Lord, I am taught Thy name to fear, And do Thy holy will. Are these Thy favors, day by day, To me above the rest? Then let me love Thee more than they, And try to serve Thee best. |
| --Isaac Watts. |
| THE ROSE |
How fair is the Rose! What a beautiful flower! The glory of April and May; But the leaves are beginning to fade in an hour, And they wither and die in a day. Yet the Rose has one powerful virtue to boast, Above all the flowers of the field! When its leaves are all dead and fine colors are lost, Still how sweet a perfume it will yield! So frail is the youth and the beauty of man, Though they bloom and look gay like the Rose; But all our fond care to preserve them is vain, Time kills them as fast as he goes. Then I'll not be proud of my youth and my beauty, Since both of them wither and fade; But gain a good name by well doing my duty: This will scent like a rose when I'm dead. |
| --Isaac Watts. |
MADONNA AND CHILD
By Carlo Dolci (1616-1686)
| PRAISE FOR CREATION AND PROVIDENCE |
I sing th' Almighty power of God, That made the mountains rise, That spread the flowing seas abroad, And built the lofty skies. I sing the wisdom that ordain'd The sun to rule the day; The moon shines full at His command, And all the stars obey. I sing the goodness of the Lord, That fill'd the earth with food; He formed the creatures with His word, And then pronounced them good. Lord, how Thy wonders are display'd Where'er I turn mine eye! If I survey the ground I tread, Or gaze upon the sky! There's not a plant or flower below But makes Thy glories known: And clouds arise, and tempests blow, By order from Thy throne. Creatures (as numerous as they be) Are subject to Thy care: There's not a place where we can flee, But God is present there. |
| --Isaac Watts. |
| A GENERAL SONG OF PRAISE TO GOD |
How glorious is our heavenly King, Who reigns above the sky! How shall a child presume to sing His dreadful majesty? How great His power is none can tell, Nor think how large His grace: Not men below, nor saints that dwell On high before His face. Not angels, that stand round the Lord, Can search His secret will; But they perform His heavenly word, And sing His praises still. Then let me join this holy tram, And my first offerings bring; The eternal God will not disdain To hear an infant sing. My heart resolves, my tongue obeys, And angels shall rejoice, To hear their mighty Maker's praise Sound from a feeble voice. |
| --Isaac Watts. |
| INNOCENT PLAY |
Abroad in the meadows, to see the young lambs Run sporting about by the side of their dams, With fleeces so clean and so white; Or a nest of young doves in a large open cage, When they play all in love, without anger or rage, How much we may learn from the sight! If we had been ducks, we might dabble in mud; Or dogs, we might play till it ended in blood: So foul and so fierce are their natures; But Thomas and William, and such pretty names, Should be cleanly and harmless as doves or as lambs, Those lovely, sweet innocent creatures. Not a thing that we do, nor a word that we say, Should injure another in jesting or play, For he's still in earnest that's hurt: How rude are the boys that throw pebbles and mire; There's none but a madman will fling about fire, And tell you, "'T is all but in sport!" |
| --Isaac Watts. |
| AGAINST QUARRELING AND FIGHTING |
Let dogs delight to bark and bite, For God hath made them so; Let bears and lions growl and fight, For 't is their nature, too: But, children, you should never let Such angry passions rise; Your little hands were never made To tear each other's eyes. Let love through all your actions run, And all your words be mild; Live like the blessed Virgin's Son, That sweet and lovely Child. His soul was gentle as a lamb; And as His stature grew, He grew in favor both with man And God, His Father, too. Now, Lord of all, He reigns above, And from His heavenly throne He sees what children dwell in love, And marks them for His own. |
| --Isaac Watts. |
| LOVE BETWEEN BROTHERS AND SISTERS |
Whatever brawls disturb the street, There should be peace at home; Where sisters dwell and brothers meet, Quarrels should never come. Birds in their little nests agree, And 't is a shameful sight, When children of one family Fall out, and chide, and fight. Hard names at first, and threatening words That are but noisy breath, May grow to clubs and naked swords, To murder and to death. The devil tempts one mother's son To rage against another; So wicked Cain was hurried on Till he had killed his brother. The wise will make their anger cool, At least before 't is night; But in the bosom of a fool It burns till morning light. Pardon, O Lord, our childish rage, Our little brawls remove; That, as we grow to riper age, Our hearts may all be love. |
| --Isaac Watts. |
| A SUMMER EVENING |
How fine has the day been! How bright was the sun! How lovely and joyful the course that he run; Though he rose in a mist when his race he begun, And there follow'd some droppings of rain: But now the fair traveler's come to the West, His rays are all gold, and his beauties are best; He paints the skies gay as he sinks to his rest, And foretells a bright rising again. Just such is the Christian. His course he begins, Like the sun in the mist, when he mourns for his sins, And melts into tears; then he breaks out and shines, And travels his heavenly way: But when he comes nearer to finish his race Like a fine setting sun, he looks richer in grace, And gives a sure hope, at the end of his days, Of rising in brighter array. |
| --Isaac Watts. |
THE PITTI MADONNA
By Murillo (1618-1682)
"The Pitti Madonna is one of this sweet company, and perhaps the loveliest of them all. Both she and her beautiful boy are full of gentle earnestness, and if they are too simple-minded to realize what is in store for them, they are none the less ready to do the Father's will."
| SUMMER |
The heats of Summer come hastily on, The fruits are transparent and clear; The buds and the blossoms of April are gone, And the deep colored cherries appear. The blue sky above us is bright and serene, No cloud on its bosom remains; The woods and the fields and the hedges are green, And the haycock smells sweet from the plains. But, hark! from the woodlands what sound do I hear? The voices of pleasure so gay; The merry young haymakers cheerfully bear The heat of the hot summer's day. While some with bright scythe, singing shrill to the tone, The tall grass and buttercups mow, Some spread it with rakes, and by others 't is thrown Into sweet smelling cocks in a row. Then since joy and glee with activity join, This moment to labor I'll rise; While the idle love best in the shade to recline, And waste precious time as it flies. |
| --Jane Taylor |
Music for "The Star"
| THE STAR |
Twinkle, twinkle, little star How I wonder what you are! Up above the world so high, Like a diamond in the sky. When the blazing sun is gone, When he nothing shines upon, Then you show your little light, Twinkle, twinkle, all the night. Then the traveler in the dark Thanks you for your tiny spark. He could not see which way to go, If you did not twinkle so. In the dark blue sky you keep, And often through my curtains peep; For you never shut your eye Till the sun is in the sky. As your bright and tiny spark Lights the traveler in the dark, Though I know not what you are, Twinkle, twinkle, little star. |
| --Jane Taylor. |
| THE FLOWER AND THE LADY, ABOUT GETTING UP |
Pretty flower, tell me why All your leaves do open wide, Every morning, when on high The noble sun begins to ride. This is why, my lady fair, If you would the reason know, For betimes the pleasant air Very cheerfully doth blow. And the birds on every tree Sing a merry, merry tune, And the busy honey bee Comes to suck my sugar soon. This is, then, the reason why I my little leaves undo. Little lady, wake and try If I have not told you true. |
| --Jane Taylor. |
| THE FIELD DAISY |
I'm a pretty little thing, Always coming with the spring. In the meadows green I'm found, Peeping just above the ground; And my stalk is covered flat With a white and yellow hat. Little Mary, when you pass Lightly o'er the tender grass, Skip about, but do not tread On my bright but lowly head; For I always seem to say, "Surely winter's gone away." |
| --Jane Taylor. |
| THE LITTLE CHILD |
I'm a very little child, Only just have learned to speak; So I should be very mild, Very tractable and meek. If my dear mamma were gone, Oh, I think that I should die, When she left me all alone, Such a little thing as I. Now what service can I do, To repay her for her care? For I cannot even sew, Nor make anything I wear. Well, then, I will always try To be very good and mild; Never now be cross or cry, Like a fretful little child. How unkind it is to fret, And my dear mamma to tease, When my lesson I should get, Sitting still upon her knees! Oh, how can I serve her so, Such a good mamma as this? Round her neck my arms I'll throw, And her gentle cheek I'll kiss. Then I'll tell her that I will Try not any more to fret her, And as I grow older still, Try to show I love her better. |
| --Jane Taylor. |
THE "GRANDUCA MADONNA"
By Raphael
"Around the mighty master came The marvels which his pencil wrought, Those miracles of power, whose fame Is wide as human thought. "There drooped thy more than mortal face, O Mother, beautiful and mild! Enfolding in one dear embrace Thy Saviour and thy Child!" |
| --John Greenleaf Whittier |
| GOING TO BED |
The moon is up, the sun is gone, Now nothing here he shines upon; The pretty birds are in their nest, The cows are lying down to rest, Or wait, beneath the farmer's shed, To hear the merry milkmaid's tread. The pleasant flowers that opened wide, And smelt so sweet at morning-tide, Fold up their leaves, as if to say, "Good-by, we'll come another day; And now, dear little lady, you Must sleep, as we shall seem to do." Yes,--here's my pretty bed, and I Will kiss mamma, and say "by, by!" So nice and warm, so smooth and white, So comfortable all the night! And when my little prayer is said, How could I cry to go to bed? |
| --Jane Taylor. |
| TIME TO GET UP |
The cock, who soundly sleeps at night, Rises with the morning light; Very loud and shrill he crows; Then the sleeping ploughman knows He must rise and hasten, too, All his morning work to do. And the little lark does fly To the middle of the sky. You may hear his merry tune, In the morning very soon; For he does not like to rest Idly in his downy nest. While the cock is crowing shrill, Leave my little bed I will, And I'll rise to hear the lark, Now it is no longer dark. 'T would be a pity there to stay, When 't is bright and pleasant day. |
| --Jane Taylor. |
| THE SNOWDROP |
Now the spring is coming on, Now the snow and ice are gone, Come, my little snowdrop root, Will you not begin to shoot? Ah! I see your pretty head Peeping on the flower bed, Looking all so green and gay On this fine and pleasant day. For the mild south wind doth blow, And hath melted all the snow, And the sun shines out so warm, You need not fear another storm. So come up, you pretty thing, Just to tell us it is spring, Hanging down your modest head On my pleasant flower bed. |
| --Jane Taylor. |
| GETTING UP |
Now, my baby, ope your eye, For the sun is in the sky, And he's peeping once again Through the frosty windowpane. Little baby, do not keep Any longer fast asleep. There now, sit in mother's lap, That she may untie your cap; For the little strings have got Twisted into such a knot. Yes, you know you've been at play With the bobbin as your lay. There it comes, now let us see Where your petticoats can be; Oh, they're in the window seat, Folded very smooth and neat; When my baby older grows She shall double up her clothes. Now one pretty little kiss, For dressing you so nice as this. But before we go downstairs, Don't forget to say your prayers, For 't is God who loves to keep Little babies fast asleep. |
| --Jane Taylor. |
| A FINE THING |
Who am I with noble face, Shining in a clear blue place? If to look at me you try, I shall blind your little eye. When my noble face I show, Over yonder mountain blue, All the clouds away do ride, And the dusky night beside. Then the clear wet dews I dry With the look of my bright eye; And the little birds awake, Many a merry tune to make. Cowslips, then, and harebells blue, And lily-cups their leaves undo; For they shut themselves up tight, All the dark and foggy night. Then the busy people go, Some to plow, and some to sow; When I leave, their work is done, Guess if I am not the Sun. |
| --Jane Taylor. |
MADONNA AND CHILD
By Georg Papperitz
| A PRETTY THING |
Who am I that shines so bright With my pretty yellow light, Peeping through your curtains gray? Tell me, little girl, I pray. When the sun is gone, I rise In the very silent skies; And a cloud or two doth skim Round about my silver rim. All the little stars do seem Hidden by my brighter beam; And among them I do ride, Like a queen in all her pride. Then the reaper goes along, Singing forth a merry song, While I light the shaking leaves And the yellow harvest sheaves. Little girl, consider well, Who this simple tale doth tell; And I think you'll guess it soon, For I only am the Moon. |
| --Ann Taylor. |
| THE SHEEP |
Lazy sheep, pray tell me why In the pleasant fields you lie, Eating grass or daisies white, From the morning till the night? Everything can something do, But what kind of use are you? Nay, my little master, nay, Do not serve me so, I pray. Don't you see the wool that grows On my back to make your clothes? Cold, and very cold you'd be, If you had not wool from me. True, it seems a pleasant thing To nip the daisies in the spring; But many chilly nights I pass On the cold and dewy grass, Or pick a scanty dinner where All the common's brown and bare. Then the farmer comes at last, When the merry spring is past, And cuts my woolly coat away, To warm you in the winter's day. Little master, this is why In the pleasant fields I lie. |
| --Jane Taylor. |
THE WOUNDED LAMB
By Von Bremen
"How think ye? if any man have a hundred sheep, and one of them be gone astray, doth he not leave the ninety and nine, and go unto the mountains, and seek that which goeth astray? And if so be that he find it, verily I say unto you, he rejoiceth over it more than over the ninety and nine which have not gone astray. Even so it is not the will of your Father who is in heaven, that one of these little ones should perish."
| THE COW |
Thank you, pretty cow, that made Pleasant milk to soak my bread, Every day, and every night, Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white. Do not chew the hemlock rank, Growing on the weedy bank; But the yellow cowslips eat, They perhaps will make it sweet. Where the purple violet grows, Where the bubbling water flows, Where the grass is fresh and fine, Pretty cow, go there and dine. |
| --Jane Taylor. |
Music for "Going to Bed".
| GOING TO BED |
Little baby, lay your head On your pretty cradle-bed; Shut your eye-peeps, now the day And the light are gone away. All the clothes are tucked in tight; Little baby dear, good night! Yes, my darling, well I know How the bitter wind doth blow; And the winter's snow and rain Patter on the window pane. But they cannot come in here, To my little baby dear; For the window shutteth fast, Till the stormy night is past; Or the curtains we may spread Round about her cradle-bed. So, till morning shineth bright, Little baby dear, good night! |
| --Jane Taylor. |
| BABY AND MAMMA |
What a little thing am I! Hardly higher than the table. I can eat, and play, and cry, But to work I am not able. Nothing in the world I know, But mamma will try and show me. Sweet mamma, I love her so, She's so very kind unto me. And she sets me on her knee, Very often, for some kisses. Oh! how good I'll try to be, For such a dear mamma as this is. |
| --Jane Taylor. |
CHILD WITH DOG
Sir Joshua Reynolds (1723-1792)
| THE TEMPEST |
See the dark vapors cloud the sky, The thunder rumbles round and round; The lightning's flash begins to fly, Big drops of rain bedew the ground: The frightened birds with ruffled wing, Fly through the air and cease to sing. 'T is God who on the tempest rides And with a word directs the storm, 'T is at His nod the wind subsides, Or heaps of heavy vapors form. In fire and cloud He walks the sky, And lets His stores of tempest fly. |
| --Jane Taylor. |
| THE VIOLET |
Down in a green and shady bed A modest violet grew; Its stalk was bent, it hung its head, As if to hide from view. And yet it was a lovely flower, Its colors bright and fair. It might have graced a rosy bower, Instead of hiding there. Yet there it was content to bloom, In modest tints arrayed; And there diffused its sweet perfume, Within the silent shade. Then let me to the valley go, This pretty flower to see, That I may also learn to grow In sweet humility. |
| --Jane Taylor. |
SHEEP
By Rosa Bonheur (1822-1899)
One of the most famous artists of the world, born at Bordeaux, France, March 22, 1822, died 1899. Her best known pictures are the "Horse Fair" and "Tillage in Nivernais." During the siege of Paris her studio was saved by the special order of the crown prince of Prussia. She received the cross of the Legion of Honor in 1865
| MAY DAY SONG |
April's gone, the king of showers; May is come, the queen of flowers; Give me something, gentles dear, For a blessing on the year. For my garland give, I pray, Words and smiles of cheerful May: Birds of spring, to you we come, Let us pick a little crumb. |
| --John Keble. |
| THE LAMB |
Little lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee, Gave thee life and bade thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice? Little lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Little lamb, I'll tell thee; Little lamb, I'll tell thee. He is called by thy name, For He calls Himself a Lamb. He is meek and He is mild, He became a little child. I a child and thou a lamb, We are called by His name. Little lamb, God bless thee. Little lamb, God bless thee. |
| --William Blake. |
THE AGE OF INNOCENCE
Sir Joshua Reynolds (1723-1792)
| SOME MURMUR WHEN THEIR SKY IS CLEAR |
Some murmur when their sky is clear And wholly bright to view, If one small speck of dark appear In their great heaven of blue. And some with thankful love are filled, If but one streak of light, One ray of God's good mercy gild The darkness of their night. In palaces are hearts that ask, In discontent and pride, Why life is such a dreary task And all good things denied. And hearts in poorest huts admire How love has in their aid, Love that not ever seems to tire, Such rich provision made. |
| --Archbishop Trench. |
| LITTLE DROPS OF WATER |
Little drops of water, Little grains of sand, Make the mighty ocean, And the pleasant land. Then the little minutes, Humble though they be, Make the mighty ages Of eternity. |
| --Ebenezer Cobham Brewer. |
CHRISTMAS HYMNS
THE ANNOUNCEMENT TO THE SHEPHERDS
By Bernard Plockhorst (1825- )
"And there were shepherds in the same country abiding in the field, and keeping watch by night over their flock. And an angel of the Lord stood by them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, 'Be not afraid; for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which shall be to all the people: for there is born to you this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this is the sign unto you; Ye shall find a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, and lying in a manger.'
"And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,--
'Glory to God in the highest,
And on earth peace among men in whom he is well pleased.'"
| CHRISTMAS LULLABY |
Sleep, baby, sleep. The mother sings: Heaven's angels kneel and fold their wings. Sleep, baby, sleep! With swaths of scented hay Thy bed By Mary's hand at eve was spread. Sleep, baby, sleep! At midnight came the shepherds, they Whom seraphs wakened by the way. Sleep, baby, sleep! And three kings from the East afar, Ere dawn, came, guided by the star. Sleep, baby, sleep! They brought Thee gifts of gold and gems, Pure orient pearls, rich diadems. Sleep, baby, sleep! But Thou who liest slumbering there, Art King of kings, earth, ocean, air. Sleep, baby, sleep! Sleep, baby, sleep. The shepherds sing: Through heaven, through earth, hosannas ring. Sleep, baby, sleep! |
| --John Addington Symonds. |