The robin and the red-breast, Bad luck will surely follow! "SING ON, BLITHE BIRD" I'VE plucked the berry from the bush, the brown nut from the tree, But heart of happy little bird ne'er broken was by me. I saw them in their curious nests, close couching, slyly peer With their wild eyes, like glittering beads, to note if harm were near; I passed them by, and blessed them all; I felt that it was good To leave unmoved the creatures smail whose home was in the wood. And here, even now, above my head, a lusty rogue doth sing; He pecks his swelling breast and neck, and trims his little wing. He will not fly; he knows full well, while chirping on that spray, I would not harm him for the world, or interrupt his lay. Sing on, sing on, blithe bird! and fill my heart with summer gladness; It has been aching many a day with measures full of sadness! William Motherwell [1797-1835] "I LIKE LITTLE PUSSY" I LIKE little Pussy, her coat is so warm; She shall sit by my side, and I'll give her some food; And thus show her thanks for my kindness to her. The Little Gentleman I'll not pinch her ears, nor tread on her paw, 103 Jane Taylor [1783-1824] LITTLE THINGS LITTLE drops of water, Little grains of sand, Make the mighty ocean So the little moments, So our little errors Lead the soul away From the path of virtue, Little deeds of kindness, Help to make earth happy Like the heaven above. Julia Fletcher Carney [1823-1908] Wash your face and hands with care, Change your shoes, and brush your hair; Then so fresh, and clean, and neat, Come and take your proper seat: Making other people wait; Do not rudely point or touch: They who idly crumbs will waste Often want a loaf to taste! Never choose the daintiest food, THE CRUST OF BREAD I MUST not throw upon the floor For many little hungry ones My parents labor very hard For wilful waste makes woeful want, Oh! how I wish I had the bread "HOW DOTH THE LITTLE BUSY BEE” How doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour, And gather honey all the day From every opening flower! The Brown Thrush How skilfully she builds her cell! How neat she spreads the wax! With the sweet food she makes. In works of labor or of skill, I would be busy too; For Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do. In books, or work, or healthful play, That I may give for every day Some good account at last. 105 Isaac Watts [1674-1748] THE BROWN THRUSH THERE'S a merry brown thrush sitting up in the tree. Hush! Look! In my tree, I'm as happy as happy can be!" And the brown thrush keeps singing, "A nest do you see, And five eggs, hid by me in the juniper-tree? Don't meddle! Don't touch! little girl, little boy, Or the world will lose some of its joy! Now I'm glad! Now I'm free! And I always shall be, If you never bring sorrow to me." So the merry brown thrush sings away in the tree, To you and to me, to you and to me; And he sings all the day, little girl, little boy, "Oh, the world's running over with joy! But long it won't be, Don't you know? Don't you see? Unless we're as good as can be." Lucy Larcom [1824-1893] THE SLUGGARD 'Tis the voice of a sluggard; I heard him complain, 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; I passed by his garden, and saw the wild brier I made him a visit, still hoping to find That he took better care for improving his mind; Said I then to my heart, "Here's a lesson for me; 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, |