Wee Wee Songs for Our Little Pets

“What have you in that basket, child?”
“They are blackberries, Miss, all picked to-day;
They’re very nice, and fully ripe;—Do
look at them, and taste them, pray.”

“Oh, yes, they are very nice indeed!
Here’s four-pence, that will buy a few,
Not quite so many as I could eat;
However, I must make them do.”

“No, Miss; but you must take the whole.”
“I can’t, indeed, my money’s spent;
I should be glad to buy them all,
But I have not another cent.

“And if you had a thousand, Miss,
I’d not accept of one from you;
Pray take them! they are all your own,
And take the little basket, too.

“Have you forgot that little girl
You last year gave a bonnet to?
You may, perhaps, but ever will
That little girl remember you.

“For ever since I’ve been to church,—
And much do I delight to go,—
For there I learned the way to heaven,
Which I so long had wished to know.

“One day I thought within myself,
That pretty basket Billy wove
I’ll fill with fruit for that dear Miss,
For sure ’t will be a work of love.

“And so, this morning, up I rose,
While yet the fields were wet with dew,
And picked the nicest I could find,
And brought them fresh and sweet to you.

“I know the gift is small, indeed,
For such a lady to receive;
But yet, I hope you’ll not refuse
All that poor Phebe has to give.”

SUPPER FOR THE ROBINS.

These dear little birdies
Will not fly away;
They come for their breakfast
And supper each day.

They come in the morning,
At noon, and at night,
And always are welcomed
With greatest delight.

And crumbs in abundance
They always have found
Just under the window,
Spread out on the ground.

Now Minnie and Ella
Are watching to see
Their dear little robins
Come down from the tree,

Where they have been warbling
A beautiful lay,
To charm the dear children
At close of the day.

BREAKFAST FOR THE ROBINS

When supper is over,
The birds fly away,
And sing a new song
At dawn of the day.

These sweet little robins
Such lovely notes raise,
They seem to be singing
Their Creator’s praise.

Awake, little Minnie!
Come, Ella, arise!
The sun is beginning
His course in the skies.

Your birdies already
Are waiting for you
To give them their breakfast;
Now what will you do?

They rouse from their slumbers,
Then kneel down to pray;—
Thus Minnie and Ella
Begin the new day.

Before their own breakfast
Is ready, they go
To see if the robins
Are waiting below.

And there one dear songster
Is sure to be found
As soon as his breakfast
Is spread on the ground.

THE WIDOW OF ZAREPHATH.

No rain had descended, the fountains were dry,
The streamlets no water afford;
No clouds, thick and heavy, bespoke a supply,
When a voice to Elijah descends from on high,
And spoke the commands of the Lord.

Arise, O Elijah! to Zion repair,
Awhile in Zarephath remain;
A poor widow woman will welcome thee there,
To thee of her little a portion will spare,
And with food and with water sustain.

The Prophet arose at the heav’nly desire,
His steps to Zarephath he bound,
When lo! the poor widow in humble attire,
And busied with gathering sticks for her fire,
At the gates of the city he found.

He said, “I have travelled a wearisome way;
From Cherith to-day I have hied;
I have passed by no fountain my thirst to allay,
Then fetch me a draught of cold water, I pray,
Lest I perish with thirst at thy side.”

She turned, and again to the woman he spoke,
“A stranger am I in the land,
And since in compassion my thirst thou wilt slake,
Remember I also am hunger’d, and take
A morsel of bread in thy hand.”

She answered, “As liveth thy Maker and Lord,
No bread for thy hunger have I;
Of oil but a little my cruise can afford,
But an handful of meal in my barrel is stor’d,
And from none can I ask a supply.

“For fuel to dress this small portion, to-day,
To the gates of the city I hie,
And now with these sticks I return on my way,
That my son and myself may our hunger allay,
Then calmly resign us to die.”

Then answered Elijah, “As thou hast begun,
Go on till thy home shall appear;
Make cakes of thy meal, and first bake for me one,
Then after another for thee and thy son,
And your hunger allay without fear.

“For thus saith thy Maker, the meal shall not waste,
And the oil in the cruise shall not fail,
But thou and thy household his bounty shall taste,
Till the day when his wrath and his anger is past,
And showers of plenty prevail.”

No need had Elijah the words to repeat,—
To the house of the widow he went;
Many days he sojourned in the quiet retreat,
And she, and her son, and the prophet did eat,
And the oil and the meal were not spent.

Yet more would you hear how this widow was bless’d,
How her son from the dead was restored,
Go turn to the Book where the tale is express’d,
Of Elijah, beloved of the Lord.

SKATING.

Do not fear
To venture out,
Tho’ Jack Frost
May be about.

Come, enjoy
This bracing air;
Ice is solid
Everywhere.

It is safe
To skate or slide;
See how swiftly
Now we glide!

O’er the pond,
All together;—
Oh, what healthy,
Charming weather!

TO MY INFANT NEPHEW.

Is this new life so sweet to thee, my little baby boy,
That thus thy minutes seem to be a constant course of joy?
I gaze upon thy laughing face, I hear thy joyous tone,
Till the glad feeling of thy heart oft passes to my own.

No titled infant for whose brow a coronet shines fair
Is blest with better health than thou or nursed with tenderer care;
And be it prince or peasant’s child, the station high or low,
These blessings are the only ones its earliest days can know.

I would not damp thy present joy with tales of future care,
Nor paint the ills of life, dear boy, which thou must feel and bear;
The early dew is fair to view although it vanish soon,
And lovely is the morning flower that withers when ’tis noon.

Thy heavenly Father, by whose will a living soul is thine,
By his good Spirit visits still this heritage divine,
And children who in innocence the path of life hath trod,
Hear often in their tender minds the indwelling voice of God.

As reason dawns, as mind expands, in childhood’s opening day,
Thou oft wilt hear his high commands, to shun the evil way;
And every evil thought resigned to this divine control,
Will bring a sweetness to thy mind, a blessing to thy soul.

Dear as thy welfare is to me, I cannot frame a thought,
I cannot breathe a wish for thee with happiness more fraught,
Than that this heavenly Friend may prove the Ruler of thy way,
And thy young heart incline to love, to hearken, and obey.

SLEEP, LITTLE BIRDIE!

Hush, little birdie,
I’ll sing you a song,
One that is sweet,
And not very long;
Peep! peep!
Go to sleep!

Lullaby, birdie!
While taking your rest,—
Nothing shall harm you,
You’re safe in your nest.
Peep! peep!
Go to sleep!

THE WOUNDED FOOT.

The children are grieved, for the poor little boy
Has wounded his foot with a thorn;
And Willie and Fred have left their play,
And both of them have gone

To ask mamma to run to the spot,
And try to relieve the pain;
She will help the dear boy, but he must not run
Without stockings and shoes again.

LITTLE ELLEN’S REQUEST.

“I do not like this dress of mine,”
Said little Ellen to her mother;
“The girls at school are dressed so fine,—
I wish that I could have another.

“Do buy me one that’s very gay,
And a new bonnet trimmed with lace,—
Unless I look as smart as they
I feel ashamed to show my face.”

Her mother said, “ Ellen, my dear,
Your clothes, I’m sure, are very good;
Nor would I wish you to appear
So fine and gaudy if you could.

“I try to dress you neat and plain,
That I may buy you useful books;
And if you’re neither proud nor vain,
I’m sure our friends will like your looks.

“Whene’er I dress you, I must say,
Would God be pleased with things like these?
For, Ellen, we must seek each day
In all we do our God to please.

MILKING THE COWS.

’T was near the close of day, yet bright
The sun shone o’er the hill,
And pour’d a flood of golden light
On every object still.

With hat in hand, and reeking brows,
Did little Thomas come,
For he had helped to bring the cows
From distant pasture home.

Now, seated on the gray stone wall
Which all the yard surrounds,
His eye attentive noted all
That passed within its bounds.

With snow-white pail, the dairy’s pride,
Each milker seated low,
Rested his head against the side
Of every gentle cow.

From Brown and Pied, from Black and Red,
The milk with care was drawn;
But Brindle fiercely shook her head
And raised her pointed horn.

Away she ran; but boy and man
Soon overtook and tied her,
And sturdy Ben, to milk her then,
Sat closely down beside her.

So! So! they cried, stand steady now.
But all would not avail,
For with her foot the restless cow
Soon overthrew the pail.

On dirt and sward the milk was pour’d
By Brindle’s luckless blow,
And in a pen they put her then
Till she could gentle grow.

The rest were sent, the milking done,
To graze in grassy field,
Till summon’d by the rising sun
Their morning’s milk to yield.

LOST CHILD.

In Newport, through the silent street
At midnight came a hum
Of voices and of passing feet,
And loudly-beaten drum.

A child was lost,—none could be found
In alley, street, or lane;
His friends in sorrow searched around,
But search was all in vain.

Though many a lantern lent its aid
And torches beamed on high,
In vain the mournful party stray’d
Till morning lit the sky.

Then by the water’s side they came,
And there, oh, sad to say!
All cold and wet, his lifeless frame
Upon the sea-weed lay.

That morning, when he strayed from home,
Poor little Johnnie plann’d
Along the water’s edge to roam,
Among the yellow sand.

And, as he sported free from care
The slippery rocks around,
The rising tide surprised him there,
And there the boy was drowned.

They bore him home, a mournful sight,
Then, speedily arrayed,
His little form in spotless white
Was in a coffin laid.

Next came his friends, a mournful band,
To form the funeral throng,
Where many children hand in hand
Walked silently along.

In grave-yard green may now be seen
O’er Johnnie’s grave a stone,
And letters fair engraven there
His name and age make known.

GOD, THE GREAT CREATOR.

“Dear mother,” one morning a little boy said,
“Pray tell me by whom this fine country was made;
At home in our town, where the houses are thick,
I know how they make them of timber and brick.

“I have seen how the mason and carpenter, too,
With trowel and hammer their labors pursue;
But not half so fine do their works all appear
As doth the fair covering that’s everywhere here.

“How lovely this grass with the flowers so sweet!
Nor do I remember a house in the street
So high as that tree where the little bird sings;
Did God, dearest mother, make all these fine things?”

“He did, my dear boy,” did his mother reply;
“Our Father in heaven, who dwells in the sky,
Made all these fine things,—the wide earth and seas,
The hills and the mountains, the rocks and the trees.

“This carpet of grass with its blossoms so fair,
The beasts of the wood and the fowls of the air,—
All my dear boy has seen in sunshine or shade,
His heavenly Father in kindness has made.

“And life, health, and strength he has given to thee,
And hearing, and eye-sight these beauties to see;
O, give him thine heart, then, in grief and in joy;
He will love thee and make thee his own little boy;
Will guard thee in safety thro’ life, and will even
Take thee with him to dwell in his beautiful heaven.”

TIBBY AND HER KITTEN.

Kit has not a sister,
Nor has she a brother;
And she is the darling
Of Tibby, her mother.

She stands there and purrs
With motherly pride,
While dear little kitty
Is close by her side.

T ’is pleasant to watch them—
Now they are at play,
With a round ball between them
Just rolling away.

If puss could not play
’Twould be a great pity;
’Tis only one year
Since she was a kitty.

How funny it seems,
That she is a mother;
’Tis only one year
Since she and her brother

Were found in the stable
One warm summer day,
Where old Spot had hid them
So snugly away.

Such wee bits of kitties
You never did see,
And one was for Willie
And one was for me.

But one of those kitties
Strayed off from his mother,
Then my little Tibby
Had no more a brother.

Now she and old Spot
Scarce notice each other,
For Tibby, though young,
Is now a fond mother.

While grandmother Spot
Is roaming about
Not one rat or mouse
Will dare to come out.

And Tibby’s a mouser,—
She’ll soon teach her kitty
To chase them about
Without any pity.

Just look at her now,
With kit at her side,
And see how she watches
With motherly pride

Her one little darling
Who has not a brother
Or sister to share
The love of her mother.

Our Father has taught them
To care for each other;
He teaches our Tabby
To be a fond mother.

He teaches our kitty
To gambol and play,
And cares for them kindly
By night and by day.

Each creature that lives
And moves on the earth,
Our dear heavenly Father
Has kept from its birth.

And he loves to see them
So joyous and gay,
And makes them so happy
They all love to play.

I’m glad that they have
Such love for each other,
I’m glad that my kitty
Does love her dear mother.

HAPPY CAT.

In eighteen hundred and eighteen,
In pleasant time of Spring,
The pretty kitten first was seen,
Whose history I sing.

And first her pedigree to tell,—
She came, I understand,
Of parents as respectable
As any in the land.

Tib she was always called, for why?
It was her mother’s name,
And lively was the kitten’s eye,
And active was her frame.

The soft, warm coat that covered her,
Was goodly to the sight,
For spots of grey and yellow fur
Shone ’mid the milky white.

She quickly learned both rat and mouse
To combat and surprise,
For these abounded in the house
Where first Tib oped her eyes.

One half the year she tarried here,
And then went to reside
With Mrs. H., who lived quite near,
(Her cat had lately died.)

There play’d she many a youthful trick,
Which gain’d her great applause;
The rolling ball she’d follow quick,
And seize between her paws.

The floating feather she would chase,
And with a spring attain;
Nor buzzing fly could rest in peace
About the window pane.

But one mischievous trick of puss
I mention to her shame;
To see the mistress of the house
A gentle lady came.

Tib saw the bonnet of the guest
Most carefully laid down,
Then quickly comes to take her rest
Within the satin crown.

Miss Tibby’s head, and tail, and ears,
Into this quiet station
Are drawn, and not a hair appears
To common observation.

At length the lady took her hat,—
And how they all did stare
And laugh to see a sleeping cat
So snugly nestled there.

Six years rolled smoothly like the first,
From every evil free,
And many a kitten had she nurs’d
The prettiest that could be.

A most unusual sound one night
Was heard, and Tib thereby
Was roused at once from slumbers light,
To hear a baby cry!

No sound like this had met her ears
Within that ancient dome
In all the many quiet years
That this had been her home.

Straight up the stairway did she spring,
And there beheld the elf,—
A cunning, little, helpless thing,
No bigger than herself.

Tib loved the baby from that day,
And oft would rub her head
Against him in a friendly way,
Or sit beside his bed.

When puss was old, the baby Tom
Had grown a stately boy,
And since her feeble days had come,
He would his time employ

In nursing the poor, feeble cat,
With bread and milk to feed,
Or give her meat, both lean and fat,
According to her need.

TIBBY’S DEATH.

It now becomes us to relate
The time of Tibby’s death;
In eighteen hundred and twenty-eight
She drew her latest breath.

Old age and slow disease conspired
This faithful cat to slay,
And in the garden she expired,
About the last of May.

Her’s was a happy life indeed;
So quiet and secure,
From all the persecutions freed
That many cats endure.

Though duly fed with milk and bread,
At morn and evening, too,
No man, or youth,—or child, in truth,
A better mouser knew.

The closet door oft stood ajar,
Each shelf with viands crown’d,
Yet not the worse for honest puss
Were e’er the dishes found.

If Tib, a cat, such praise could gain
For honest, faithful deed,
Oh, how much more should those attain
Who think, and speak, and read.

SPRING

The beautiful spring-time,—the beautiful spring,
Has come with its treasure of flowers
And dear robin red-breasts again come to sing
In this beautiful garden of ours.

Spring, summer, and autumn, and winter, I know,
Each in turn fill our hearts with great pleasure;
But spring, lovely spring-time, you certainly bring
The greatest abundance of treasure.

UP! UP! AWAY!

At dawn of the day,
When I’m wishing to sleep,
My dear little birdie
This carol will keep,—
Up! Up! Away!
See! See! ’T is day!

At dawn of the day
It is so hard to wake;
But I’ll listen and hear,
For my dear birdie’s sake;
Up! Up! you’ll say,
See! See! ’T is day!

THE SABBATH BREAKER.

One pleasant morn, o’er hill and plain
The sunbeams brightly fell,
And loudly o’er the steepled fane
Rung out the Sabbath bell.

And they who loved the day of rest,
Went forth with one accord,—
Each in the way he deemed the best,
To wait upon the Lord.

But not with these, in lane or street
Was Henry seen that day;
He had not learned to turn his feet
To wisdom’s pleasant way.

But he God’s holy day would take
With wicked boys to rove
In search of walnut trees to shake
Throughout the woody grove.

With basket o’er his shoulders thrown,
His garments soiled and torn,
Young Henry sauntered from the town
This pleasant Sabbath morn.

His widowed mother, sick and poor,
Had taught him better things;
And thus to see him leave her door,
Her heart with sorrow wrings.

She tried God’s holy Book to heed,
As it before her lay;
But while she sought the words to read,
Her thoughts were far away.

The sun his parting radiance shed,—
Each hour increased her care,
When stranger steps with heavy tread
Came up her narrow stair.

And in their arms her son they bore,
Insensible and pale,
While many a stain of crimson gore
Revealed the hapless tale.

He’d spent the day amid the wood
In happiness and glee,
And, just at eve, triumphant stood
Upon a lofty tree.

The bough, the very topmost bough,
Beneath his weight gave way,
And on the rocks quite senseless now
The wretched sufferer lay.

With mangled flesh, and laboring breath,
And sadly fractured limb,
For many a week he lay till death
A mercy seemed to him.

Yet, ere its bonds the spirit burst,
Deep penitence was given;
And thus, for Jesus’ sake, we trust,
He found a home in heaven.

MY SON, GIVE ME THINE HEART.

Time is flying, dearest children,
Come and give your hearts away;
Come to Jesus! Come to Jesus!
He will teach you how to pray.

Time is flying—do not linger,
Listen to his voice to-day;
Come to Jesus! Come to Jesus!
He will teach you how to pray.

Time is flying—quickly flying,
Precious one do not delay,
Come to Jesus! Come to Jesus!
He delights to hear you pray.

Time is flying now, dear children,
Come and give your hearts away;
Come to Jesus! Come to Jesus!
He will teach you how to pray.

VISIT TO THE COUNTRY.

A little boy one morning rose,
And from his chamber high,
Saw with delight the sun was bright
And beautiful the sky.

For with his mother and his aunt,
That day full well he knew
Was planned for him a pleasant jaunt
Across the waters blue.

And soon from head to foot complete
The little boy was dressed;
But yet no breakfast could he eat,
So full of joy his breast.

Ere ten o’clock their trunks were packed,
And all were in array,
Nor yet a piece of cake they lacked
To eat upon the way.

Oh, had you seen the pretty boat
With mast and sail and oar,
In which the happy party float
The peaceful billows o’er.

By pebbly shore and island green,
Where thick the bushes grew,
Each little girl and boy, I ween,
Had longed to be there too.

But soon they reached the island where
Their cousin kind had come
With greeting fair to meet them there,
And take them to his home.

His good brown horse drew wagon bright,
In which was room enough,
For better far than chaises light
Are these when roads are rough.

The good horse trotted with his load,—
The whip he did not need,
And o’er the high and rugged road
Our travellers bore with speed.

I cannot tell each charming sight
That on the dear boy’s view
Arose to fill him with delight,
For all to him was new.

Here swam a flock of gabbling geese
In waters bright and still,
Nor did the sheep the gambols cease
About the verdant hill.

The cattle from their grassy meal
Raised up a heavy eye,
And many a pig sent forth its squeal
As rolled the wagon by.

And now the house appear’d in view
That they should tarry in,—
Then barking out the house-dog flew
And out came all their kin.

They kindly welcome gave each guest,
And full refreshment brought;
Then evening came, and needful rest
Each weary traveller sought.