Page 58—Temper Land

Good Mamma
Love, come and sit upon my knee,
And give me kisses, one, two, three,
And tell me whether you love me.
My baby.
For this I'm sure, that I love you,
And many, many things I do,
And many an hour I sit and sew
For baby.
And then at night I lie awake,
Thinking of things that I can make,
And trouble that I mean to take
For baby.
An when you're good and do not cry,
Nor into angry passions fly,
You can't think how papa and I
Love baby.
But if my little child should grow
To be a naughty child, I know
'Twould grieve mamma to serve her so,
My baby.
And when you saw me pale and thin,
By grieving for my baby's sin,
I think you'd wish that you had been
A better baby.
How They Made Up
Two naughty little people
Had a quarrel one sad day,
Each said that with the other,
She never more would play.
And so upon each other
Their little backs they turned,
And all the old time fondness
Alas! they coldly spurned.
But oh! their angry hearts grew weary,
The anger died away,
Each hoped that soon the other
Would have a word to say.
Each waited, oh! how sadly!
Each moved a little near,
And each "around the corner"
Began, at last, to peer.
Then Nellie held her dolly
To Annie with a smile:
"You may have it if you want to.
An play with it awhile."
Then Annie quickly followed
The rule she knew was right:
"I've got an apple, Nellie,
I'll give you a big bite."
And somehow the sweet faces
Met fair and square at last,
And kisses sweet and loving
Sent the quarrel flying fast.
Little Whimpy
Whimpy, little Whimpy,
Cried so much one day;
His grandma couldn't stand it,
And his mother ran away!
He was waiting by the window
When they all came home to tea.
And a gladder boy than Whimpy,
You never need hope to see!
Master Cross Patch
Cross Patch, cross Patch,
What's the matter now?
Why that wail of fretfulness,
And a scowl upon your brow?
Milk upset and wasted!
Water in your plate,
No one's sorry, old cross Patch,
For your wretched fate.
You began the morning
With a frown, my lad
And every word that you have said
Has made your mother sad.
And by your pettish temper,
You've spoiled your breakfast, too.
Cross Patch, cross Patch,
No one pities you.
Sulky Sarah
Why is Sarah standing there,
Leaning down upon a chair,
With such an angry lip and brow?
I wonder what's the matter now.
Come here my dear and tell me true,
It is because I spoke to you
About the work you'd done so slow,
That you are standing fretting so?
Why then, indeed, I'm grieved to see,
That you can so ill-tempered be:
You make your fault a great deal worse
By being angry and perverse.
Oh! how much better 'twould appear,
To see you shed a humble tear,
And then to hear you meekly say,
"I'll not do so another day."
Jane Taylor

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