The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Mother's Nursery Songs, by Thomas Hastings.

There was one Little Jack,
Not very long back,
And 'tis said to his lasting disgrace,
That he never was seen
With his hands at all clean,
Nor yet ever clean was his face.

His kind friends were much hurt
To see so much dirt,
And often and well did they scour;
But all was in vain
He was dirty again
Before they had done it an hour.

When to wash he was sent
He reluctantly went
With water to splash himself o'er;
But he left the black streaks
All over his cheeks
And made them look worse than before.

All the idle and bad
May much like this lad,
Be dirty and black, to be sure:
But good boys are seen
To be decent and clean,
Although they are ever so poor.

Jane Taylor.

AH, WHY WILL MY DEAR.

WASHING AND DRESSING.

Ah, why will my dear little girl be so cross,
And cry, and look sulky, and pout?
To lose her sweet smile is a terrible loss:
I can't even kiss her without.

You say you don't like to be wash'd and be dress'd:
But would you be dirty and foul?
Come, drive that long sob from your dear little breast,
And clear your sweet face from its scowl.

If the water is cold and the comb hurts your head,
And the soap has got into your eye,[3]
Will the water grow warmer for all that you've said?
What good will it do you to cry?

It is not to tease you and hurt you, my sweet,
But only for kindness and care,
That I wash you and dress you and make you look neat,
And comb out your tanglesome hair.

I don't mind the trouble, if you will not cry,
But pay me for all with a kiss,
That's right—take the towel and wipe your wet eye:
I thought you'd be good after this.

Jane Taylor.

O POOR LITTLE ROBIN.

O, poor little robin, so cold and so wet,
Say, what are you doing to-day?
The winter is coming, then what will you eat?
And where are you going to stay?

Your nest is so open, so cold and so poor,
You never can live there again;
O come, pretty robin, come into our door,
We'll shelter you from the cold rain.

We've clean beds to sleep in, and water to drink,
And things very nice for your food;
Come, come, pretty robin; O, how can you think
To fly off again in the wood!

The bird will not listen; but children so young,
So hungry, so cold and so wet,
May share in my cottage, and join in my song;
And they shall have something to eat.

O, HEAR THE CHICKENS.

O hear the chickens pip,
They will no longer keep
Under their mother's wing;
And shall I run and catch them?
O no, I must not touch them,
'T would be a cruel thing.

She cannot get away,
She wishes them to stay
Within the little coop:
I wish that they were kinder,
And not so slow to mind her,
So swift away to hop.

Poor hen, she walks about,
And struggles to get out,
She feels so very sad:
I wish that ev'ry chicken
Would stop its merry pippin',
And run to make her glad.

I'll never run away,
Or stop to laugh and play,
When mother calls me home:
I'll quickly run to meet her,
With kindest kisses greet her,
Soon as she bids me come.

CHERRIES ARE RIPE.

Cherries are ripe,
Cherries are ripe,
O, give the baby one;
Cherries are ripe,
Cherries are ripe,
But baby shall have none:
Babies are too young to choose;
Cherries are too sour to use;
But by and by,
Made in a pie,
No one will them refuse.

Up in the tree
Robin I see,
Picking one by one;
Shaking his bill,
Getting his fill,
Down his throat they run:
Robins want no cherry pie,
Quick they eat and off they fly.
My little child,
Patient and mild,
Surely will not cry.

Cherries are ripe,
Cherries are ripe,
But we will let them fall.
Cherries are ripe,
Cherries are ripe,
But bad for babies small
Gladly follow mother's will,
Be obedient, soft and still,
Waiting awhile,
Delighted you'll smile,
And joyful eat your fill.

HARK THE BELL.

THE SABBATH.

Hark, the bell,
Hear it swell,
Sounding through the woods and fields,
Echoing o'er the hills and dales:
'Tis Sabbath day,
Do not stray,
Do not work or play.

Hark, the bell,
Hear it swell,
Sounding through the woods and fields
Echoing o'er the hills and dales.
'Tis Sabbath day,
Don't delay,
Learn the heavenly way.

Hark, the bell,
Hear it swell,
Sounding through the woods and fields,
Echoing o'er the hills and dales,
'Tis Sabbath day,
Sing and pray,
Listen and obey.

BABY IS CRYING.

Baby is crying,
While mother is trying
To make him be happy and still;
How shall we relieve him,
Or what shall we give him?
A top or a whistle or bell?

I wish he were quiet,
He makes such a riot
That nobody else can be heard;
See how he dislikes her,
And wickedly strikes her,
O baby, how very absurd!

Not love your dear mother
And sister and brother,
Who always are loving and true!
O, be not so naughty,
So cross and so haughty,
While we are so tender of you.

Dear mother must whip him,[4]
In quiet to keep him,
If better he will not behave:
Why won't he be kinder,
And love her and mind her?
Then all that trouble he'll save.

BABY IS SICK.

Baby is sick to-day,
His face is very pale:
He will not laugh or play,
I wish that he were well.

Shall we give him some meat,
Some pudding, or some pie?
What shall he have to eat?
I hate to hear him cry.

O, no, 'twould never do,
Such things would make him worse;
They are unwholesome too,
For children well, like us.

Babies love simple food,
And we are very small;
Rich things do us no good,
We'll give him none at all.

THE APPEAL.

Father, father, kiss thy child,
Hear my little song;
When my mother sweetly smil'd—
Who pass'd along?

Father, father, kiss thy child,
Thy affection prove;
When my mother sweetly smil'd
Her look was love.

Father, father, kiss thy child,
Do not make me cry:
When my mother sweetly smil'd,
Father pass'd me by.

LOVE MY FATHER.

Love my father so dear,
Love my mother sincere.
Dearest father and mother,
Dearest sister and brother,
They my love
Shall prove.

And my neighbors so near,
My affection must share;
Love my neighbors so kindly,
Love myself, not too blindly;
They my love
Shall prove.

Both the precious and vile,
Those that hate me the while,
With concern I would cherish,
May their souls never perish,
But believe
And live.

But my Father in heav'n,
Who my blessings hath giv'n,
And the Son, and the Spirit,
Three in One, shall inherit
Pure esteem,
Supreme.

SEE THE NAUGHTY KITTEN.

See the naughty kitten,
Playing with the knittin';
How she rolls the ball about?
How she pulls the stitches out?
Naughty, naughty kitten.

Will you run and catch her?
Will you try to teach her?
Bring the pretty little book,
See if in it she will look?
Do not let her scratch you.

What a naughty pussy,
All the while so dosy,
Pussy only mew'd and purr'd,
Would not read a single word,
Naughty, naughty pussy.

Kittens know but little,
Knitting yarn is brittle,
Children should not do so ill,
They should learn to read and spell—
Not be full of prattle.

O WHAT A NAUGHTY DOG.

O, what a naughty dog is that,
To quarrel with the pussy cat,
About a little piece of meat
That sister gave for them to eat;
Pussy too, looks very shy,
And lifts her back up very high.

Hark, how he growls and barks at her,
See how she raises up her fur;
And now he snatches for the piece,
And now she's spitting in his face,
O for shame! poor dog and cat,
To quarrel for a thing like that.

Brothers and sisters should be kind,
And no such vile examples mind,
While dogs and cats may think it right
To quarrel for their appetite:
Children always should agree,
Both when they eat and when they play.

TO INFANT SCHOOL.

To infant school, to infant school,
I hear the little bell;
O, come with me to infant school,
And learn to read and spell.

To infant school, to infant school,
I do not like to wait;
O, come with me to infant school,
Or we shall be too late.

To infant school, to infant school,
We must not stop to play;
O, come with me to infant school,
And I will lead the way.

To infant school, to infant school,
We'll sweetly march and sing:
O, come with me to infant school,
The bell begins to ring.

O DON'T HURT THE DOG.

Oh! don't hurt the dog, poor honest old Tray;
What good will it do you to drive him away?
Kind treatment is justly his right;
Remember how faithful he is to his charge,
And barks at the rogues when we set him at large,
And guards us by night and by day.

If you are a boy and Tray but a beast,
I think it should teach you one lesson at least,
You ought to act better than he;
And if without reason, or judgment, or sense,
Tray does as we bid him and gives no offence
How diligent Richard should be!

Jane Taylor.

TOLL THE BELL.

THE FUNERAL.

Toll the bell,
Toll the bell,
Ring the baby's knell;
Low with the dead
It must be laid.
Baby, farewell.

Toll the bell,
Toll the bell,
Ring the baby's knell;
Pale is its face,
And white its dress,
Baby, farewell.

Toll the bell,
Toll the bell,
Ring the baby's knell;
Slow from the hall
Moves the dark pall,
Baby, farewell.

Toll the bell,
Toll the bell,
Ring the baby's knell;
Now earth to earth
Neath the green turf,
Baby, farewell.

Toll the bell,
Toll the bell,
Ring the baby's knell;
Beyond the skies
Its spirit flies,
Baby, farewell.

PART III.
——
THE CLASS ROOM.

Songs of instruction are not always the most interesting with regard to taste: but there are occasional exceptions against this remark; nor does it apply with the same strictness in regard to young children that it does in reference to adults. Such songs should be associated with pleasant remarks and illustrations; and occasionally with such series of questions as may be suggested by the language which is sung. The songs in this department are adapted to children who have passed the period of prattling infancy.

CREATION.

He who spread out the sky,
That broad blue canopy,
Who made the glorious sun,
The moon to shine by night,
The stars with eye so bright,
He made thee, little one.

He who with care doth keep
The nested birds that sleep:
And when their rest is done,
Doth guide them through the sky,
And feed them when they cry,
He loves thee, little one.

L. H. S.

THE ARK AND DOVE.

There was a noble ark,
Sailing o'er waters dark,
And wide around:
Not one tall tree was seen,
Nor flow'r, nor leaf of green,
All, all was drown'd.

Then a soft wing was spread,
And o'er the billows dread,
A meek dove flew;
But on that shoreless tide,
No living thing she spied
To cheer her view—

So to the ark she fled,
With weary drooping head
To seek for rest;
Christ is thy ark, my love,
Thou art the tender dove,
Fly to his breast.

L. H. S.

PLEYEL'S HYMN.[5]

Child, you're old enough to know
That you need a Savior's love
That you are a sinner too,
All your wicked actions prove.

When you feel your bosom swell,
Angry passions rise within
And your lips speak what they feel,
Something tells you—there is sin.

Christ was once a little child,
But his heart was pure within;
Always gentle, kind and mild;
Child, you must be just like him.

THE MOON IS VERY FAIR.

The moon is very fair and bright,
And rises very high;
I think it is a pretty sight,
To see it in the sky;
It shone upon me where I lay,
And seem'd almost as bright as day.

The stars are very pretty too,
And scatter'd all about;
At first there seem a very few,
But soon the rest come out:
I'm sure I could not count them all
They are so very bright and small.

The sun is brighter still than they,
He blazes in the skies:
I dare not turn my face that way,
Unless I shut my eyes:
Yet when he shines our hearts revive,
And all the trees rejoice and thrive.

God made and keeps them every one
By his great power and might;
He is more glorious than the sun,
And all the stars of light:
But when we end our mortal race,
The pure in heart shall see his face.

Jane Taylor.

THE COMMANDMENTS.[6]

One God I must worship supreme,
And ne'er before images bow,
I must not speak light of his name,
But pay to him every vow.

I'm bound to remember with care,
The Sabbath, so hallow'd and pure;
To honor my parents so dear,
That my life may the longer endure.

I never must steal, or consent
To what is impure or untrue;
I must not indulge discontent,
Or covet my neighbor his due.

Now help me, O Father in heav'n,
To keep these commandments with zeal;
In the strength that through Jesus is giv'n
To those who are doing thy will.

GOOD LITTLE GIRLS.

Two good little girls, Marianne and Maria,
As happily liv'd as good girls could desire;
And though they were neither grave, sullen, nor mute,
They seldom or never were heard to dispute.

If one wants a thing that the other could get,
They never are scratching or scrambling for it,
But each one is willing to give up her right,
They'd rather have nothing than quarrel and fight.

If one of them happens to have something nice,
Directly she offers her sister a slice;
And not like to some greedy children I've known,
Who would go in a corner and eat it alone.

When papa or mamma had a job to be done,
These good little girls would immediately run,
And not stand disputing to which it belong'd,
And grumble and fret and declare they were wrong'd.

Whatever occur'd in their work or their play,
They were willing to yield, and give up their own way;
Then let us all try their example to mind,
And always like them, be obliging and kind.

Jane Taylor.

HOW I LOVE MY TENDER MOTHER.

How I love my tender mother,
How I love my father dear;
How I love my little brother,
And my sister so sincere:
They are all both kind and true,
And they love me dearly too.

Be my neighbor proud or lowly,
He shall my affection share;
Be he sinful, be he holy,
He may claim my earnest prayer:
Let me not unfeeling prove,
Nor myself too dearly love.

But of all affection giv'n,
God on high demands the most;
God the Father in the heav'n,
God the Son and Holy Ghost:
Three in One and One in Three;
Be thou all in all to me.

The child may be taught, in connexion with this song, how that "love is the fulfilling of the law"—love that includes all the characteristics mentioned in the gospel. The last stanza introduces also the subject of the blessed Trinity, in such a manner as to invite explanation.

THE BEES.

O, mother dear, pray tell me where
The bees in winter stay?
The flow'rs are gone they fed upon,
So sweet in summer's day.

My child, they live within the hive,
And have enough to eat:
Amid the storm they're clean and warm,
Their food is honey sweet.

Say, mother dear, how came it there?
Did father feed them so?
I see no way in winter's day
That honey has to grow.

No, no, my child, in summer mild,
The bees laid up their store
Of honey drops in little cups,
'Til they would want no more.

In cups you said—how are they made?
Are they as large as ours?
O no, they're all made nice and small
Of wax, found in the flow'rs.

Our summer's day to work and play,
Is now in mercy giv'n,
And we must strive long as we live
To lay up stores in HEAV'N.

I SAW AN OLD COTTAGE.

I saw an old cottage of clay,
And only of mud was the floor;
'Twas all falling into decay,
And snow drifted in at the door.

Yet there a poor family dwelt,
In a cottage so dismal and rude;
And though keenest hunger they felt,
They'd scarcely a morsel of food.

The children were crying for bread,
And to their poor mother would run—
"O, give us some breakfast," they said,
Alas! their poor mother had none.

O then let the wealthy and gay
But see such a hovel as this;
And in a poor cottage of clay,
Learn what real misery is.

The little that I have to spare,
I never will squander away;
While thousands of people there are
As poor and as wretched as they.

Jane Taylor.

THE CHATTERBOX.[7]

THE CHATTERBOX.

From morning till night it was Lucy's delight,
To chatter and talk without stopping;
There was not a day but she rattled away,
Like water forever a dropping.

As soon as she rose, while she put on her clothes,
'Twas vain to endeavor to still her;
Nor once did she lack to continue her clack,
Till again she lay down on her pillow.

How very absurd! and have you not heard
That much tongue and few brains are connected?
That they are suppos'd to think least who talk most?
Their wisdom is always suspected.

While Lucy was young, if she'd bridled her tongue,
With a little good sense and exertion,
Who knows but she might now have been our delight,
Instead of our jest and aversion!

Jane Taylor.

AH, WHY WILL MY DEAR.

O POOR LITTLE ROBIN.

O, HEAR THE CHICKENS.

CHERRIES ARE RIPE.

HARK THE BELL.

BABY IS CRYING.

BABY IS SICK.

THE APPEAL.

LOVE MY FATHER.

SEE THE NAUGHTY KITTEN.

O WHAT A NAUGHTY DOG.

TO INFANT SCHOOL.

O DON'T HURT THE DOG.

TOLL THE BELL.

PART III. —— THE CLASS ROOM.

CREATION.

THE ARK AND DOVE.

PLEYEL'S HYMN.[5]

THE MOON IS VERY FAIR.

THE COMMANDMENTS.[6]

GOOD LITTLE GIRLS.

HOW I LOVE MY TENDER MOTHER.

THE BEES.

I SAW AN OLD COTTAGE.

THE CHATTERBOX.[7]

THE SCALE.[8]

PART III.
——
THE CLASS ROOM.