Hush, Dolly, bye

Hush, Dolly, bye, Dolly, sleep, Dolly, dear,
See what a bed, Dolly, I’ve for you here;
Therefore, to sleep, Dolly! don’t fret and cry;
Lay down your head, Dolly, shut up your eye.

When the bright morn, Dolly, once more has come,
Up gets the sun, and goes forth to roam;
Then shall my dear Dolly soon get up, too;
Then shall be playtime for me and for you.

Now go to sleep, Dolly, good night to you;
You must to bed, Dolly—I’m going too;
Just go to sleep without trouble or pain,
And in the morning I’ll come back again.

Johnny shall have a new bonnet

Johnny shall have a new bonnet,
And Johnny shall go to the fair,
And Johnny shall have a new ribbon
To tie up his bonny brown hair.

And here’s a leg for a stocking,
And here is a foot for a shoe,
And he has a kiss for his daddy,
And two for his mammy, I trow.

A Dear Little Granny

I want to be your granny—
Granny, granny dear;
Do you think in glasses
I’m anything like near?

Would you take me for her
If I wore her cap;
Told you pretty stories,
Took you in my lap?

Gave you lots of sweeties,
Cakes and apples too?
That’s the way that grannies,
Dear old grannies do!

Good-Night and Good-Morning

A fair little girl sat careless and free,
Sewing as long as her eyes could see;
Then smoothed her work, and folded it right,
And said “Dear Work! good-night! good-night!”

Such a number of rooks came over her head,
Crying “Caw! Caw!” on their way to bed.
She said, as she watched their curious flight,
“Little black things! good-night! good-night!”

The horses neighed, and the oxen lowed;
The sheeps “Bleat! bleat!” came over the road—
All seeming to say with a quiet delight,
“Good little girl! good-night! good-night!”

The tall pink foxglove bowed his head—
The violets curtsied and went to bed;
And good little Lucy tied up her hair,
And said on her knees her favorite prayer.

And while on her pillow she softly lay,
She knew nothing more till again it was day;
And all things said to the beautiful sun,
“Good-morning! good-morning! our work is begun.”

The Spelling Lesson

Now, Pussy, you must be real good,
And learn to spell like me;
When I say, “Pussy, what is this?”
You must say, That is C.

Don’t scratch, and twist, and turn about,
And try to get away;
But, Pussy, please to try and learn:
This is the letter A.

There now, that’s nice, you’re doing well;
Oh, dear! where can she be;
Just as I’d taught her how to spell
Clear to the letter T.

She jumped and ran away so fast,
She must have seen a rat;
And now how will she ever know
That C-A-T spells Cat.

Helping Mother

I shall help mother when I am grown big;
When I am old enough, oh! wont I dig,
Plough with the horses, and call out “Gee-ho!”
Plant the potatoes, fell timber, and mow?

Then I shall fetch the cows home to the byre,
Carry such fagots to make mother’s fire,
Reap and make hay—Hush! who calls? I shant go!
Its only to play with the baby, I know.

A boy who is seven is too big to do that,
Can’t mother nurse her, or give her the cat?
Oh, what a bother! She’s calling me still—
“Come and take the baby off my hands, Bill.”

“I must get your father’s socks finished to-night,
And I can’t while the little girl pulls the thread tight;
There—lift him up, play at ball or Peep-bo—
You will help mother then very greatly you know.”

Bill waited a moment. Then into his mind
Came a thought,—”Little boy, if you don’t feel inclined
To help mother now, when you easily can,
I’m afraid you won’t do it when you are a man.”

So he brightened his face till the baby smiled too;
Hid himself in the cupboard and called out “Cuckoo.”
And on his knee fed her with delicious cream,
And helping mother was not so bad it would seem.

The Thunderstorm, by Felicia Hemans

Deep, fiery clouds o’ercast the sky,
Dead stillness reigns in air,
There is not e’en a breeze, on high
The gossamer to bear.

The woods are hushed, the waves at rest,
The lake is dark and still,
Reflecting, on its shadowy breast,
Each form of rock and hill.

The lime-leaf waves not in the grove,
Nor rose-tree in the bower;
The birds have ceased their songs of love,
Awed by the threatening hour.

‘T is noon;–yet nature’s calm profound
Seems as at midnight deep;
–But hark! what peal of awful sound
Breaks on creation’s sleep?

The thunder bursts!–its rolling might
Seems the firm hills to shake;
And in terrific splendor bright,
The gathered lightnings break.

Yet fear not, shrink not thou, my child!
Though by the bolt’s descent
Were the tall cliffs in ruins piled,
And the wide forests rent.

Doth not thy God behold thee still,
With all-surveying eye?
Doth not his power all nature fill,
Around, beneath, on high?

Know, hadst thou eagle-pinions free,
To track the realms of air,
Thou couldst not reach a spot where He
Would not be with thee there!

In the wide city’s peopled towers,
On the vast ocean’s plains,
‘Midst the deep woodland’s loneliest bowers,
Alike th’ Almighty reigns!

Then fear not, though the angry sky
A thousand darts should cast;–
Why should we tremble, e’en to die,
And be with Him at last?

In the Swing

“Up little Gracie! Swing up high,
As if you’re going to touch the sky;
Only, take care, my darling pet—
Hold the two ropes, and don’t forget.

“Up again, Gracie! There—that’s right,
Laughing away, but holding tight;
While little Dottie waits below,
And Harry sends you to and fro.

“Stop, Harry, now! ’tis time for Grace
To yield to little Dot her place.
Be gentle, dear, for Dot’s so small—
If you’re not careful, she may fall.”

The children change; for all the three
Are fair in play, and well agree;
And now the youngest laughing pet
Begs for “a little higher!” yet.

The First Valentine

Rat-tat at the door! Rat-tat at the door!
Here are valentines one, two, three;
There is one for Harry, and one for Will,
And a big one for girlie, see!
Wildly she flies o’er the nursery floor,
Never was girlie so happy before,
As she shouts in her baby glee—
“Oh! I’ve got a valentine, all come, look!
As big as the sheet of a picture book!
Now, don’t you wish you all, like me,
Had a great big heart painted red, you see?”

All day long—now in, now out—
Now up, now down—she wanders about
Showing her treasure; ’tis fast getting torn,
But paper, we all know, is very soon worn.
“Who do you think can love me the most
To buy this, and send it alone by the post?
Do look again, you must like to see,
‘Tis a great big heart, and it ‘longs to me,
And please to read me the written line
That says, ‘God bless your sweet valentine!’”

The Kitten

Wanton droll, whose harmless play
Beguiles the rustic’s closing day,
When drawn the evening fire about,
Sit aged crone and thoughtless lout;
Come, show thy tricks and sportive graces,
Thus circled round with merry faces.
Backward coiled, and crouching low,
With glaring eyeballs watch thy foe.
The house wife’s, spindle whirling round,
Or thread, or straw, that on the ground
Its shadow throws, by urchin sly,
Held out to lure thy roving eye.
Then, onward stealing, fiercely spring
Upon the futile, faithless thing.
Now, wheeling round with bootless skill,
Thy bo-peep tail provokes thee still,
As oft beyond thy curving side
Its jetty tip is seen to glide.
Whence hast thou, then, thou witless puss,
The magic power to charm us thus?
Is it that in thy glaring eye,
And rapid movements we descry—
While we at ease, secure from ill,
The chimney corner snugly fill.

Dolly’s Clothes

I want to make your things look nice,
Dolly—because, you see,
Tomorrow evening Cousin Jane
Is coming here to tea.

Your muslin skirt is white and stiff—
I’m very glad of that;
But as my little iron’s cold,
The tucks will not lie flat.

Jane’s doll will come—she makes its clothes
Herself, and very neatly;
And when she brings it visiting,
She dresses it up sweetly.

When I put on your pretty frock,
Your sash, and sleeve-knots blue,
I really think that you will be
Quite a smart dolly too.