Page 60—Naughtiness Land

Anger
Oh! anger is an evil thing
And spoils the fairest face;
It cometh like a rainy cloud
Upon a sunny place.
One angry moment often does
What we repent for years:
It works the wrong we ne'er make right
By sorrow or tears.
It speaks the rude and cruel word
That wounds a feeling breast:
It strikes the reckless sudden blow—
It breaks the household rest.
We dread the dog that turns in play,
All snapping, fierce and quick;
We shun the steed whose temper shows
In strong and savage kick.
But how much more we find to blame,
When passion wildly swells
In hearts where kindness has been taught,
And brains where reason dwells!
The hand of peace is frank and warm
And soft as a ring-dove's wing;
And he who quells an angry thought
Is greater than a king.
Shame to the lips that ever seek
To stir up jarring strife,
When gentleness would shed so much
Of Christian joy through life!
Ever remember in thy youth,
That he who firmly tries
To conquer an to rule himself,
Is noble, brave and wise.
Eliza Cook

The Little Girl That Beat Her Sister
Go, go, my naughty girl, and kiss
Your little sister dear;
I must not have such things as this,
Nor noisy quarrels here.
What! little children scold and fight,
That ought to be so mild:
Oh! Mary, 'tis a shocking sight
To see an angry child.
I can't imagine, for my part,
The reason of your folly,
As if she did you any hurt
By playing with your dolly.
See, see the little tears that run
So quickly from her eye:
Come, my sweet innocent, have done,
'Twill do no good to cry.
Go, Mary, wipe her tears away
And make it up with kisses:
And never turn a pretty play
To such a pet as this is.

Home Peace
"Whatever brawls disturb the street
There should be peace at home;
Where sisters dwell and brothers meet
Quarrels should never come."
Dr. Watts

Little Dick Snappy
Little Dick Snappy
Was always unhappy
Because he did nothing but fret;
And when he once cried,
'Twas in vain that you tried
To make him his troubles forget.
His mother once brought him
A drum, which she bought him
Hard by at a neighbouring fair,
And gave such another
To Edward his brother,
And left them their pleasures to share.
Little Edward began,
Like a nice little man,
To play with his little new drum;
But Dick, with a pout,
Only turned his about
In his hands, and looked sulky and glum.
"What's the matter, dear Dick?
You look sad; are you sick?
Come, march like a soldier with me:
The enemy comes
Let us beat on our drums,
And mamma will out merriment see."
"No! I don't like my new toy,"
Said my ill-humoured boy,
"And yours is the best and most new;
If you'll give me yours,
Then I'll go out of doors;
But if not, I'll kick mine in two."
"Oh no! brother, no—
Pray do not say so
Of a trifle, in anger and haste;
Though they are equally new,
Yet my drum I'll give you,
But I've tied it in knots round my waist."
Then quarrelsome Dick
Gave his brother a kick;
But he did not give him another,
But, saying no more,
Edward walked to the door,
Only giving one look at his brother.
Then, bursting with spite,
With his utmost of might
Master Dick trod his drum on the floor;
The parchment did crack,
When lo; Edward comes back,
And his drum in his hands then he bore.
"The string is untied,
Dearest brother," he cried—
"So now I with pleasure will change;"
But when Dick's drum he found
Lying broke on the ground,
Oh! how did his countenance change.
"I'm really ashamed,"
Dick, sobbing, exclaimed,
"At the difference between you and me;
But continue my friend,
And I'll try to amend,
And a good-tempered fellow to be."

Which Shall It Be, Dear?
If fretting pays you, fret;
And get into a pet,
And slam and bang
The doors with a whang,
And flame and flare,
And say "Don't care."
And slip round sly,
And make the baby cry,
And thus get sent to bed, to sob it out.
But if it does not pay
Why then, my dear, do pray
Just do the other thing,
And toot and sing,
And whistle like a bird.
Letting your voice be heard,
From morn till night,
In echoes bright,
Sending the best of cheer into the home.

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