Page 69—Laziness Land

Lazy Willie
Oh! Willie is a lazy boy,
A "Sleepy Head" is he,
"Wake up!" his little sister cries,
"Wake up and talk to me."
The birds are singing in the trees,
The sun is shining bright,
But sleepy Willie slumbers on
As though it yet were night.
Oh! lazy boys will never grow
To clever manhood, you must know,
So lift your eyelids, sleepy head,
Wake up, and scramble out of bed.

The Lazy Boy
The lazy boy! and what's his name?
I should not like to tell;
But don't you think it is a shame,
That he can't read or spell.
He'd rather swing upon a gate,
Or paddle in a brook,
Than take his pencil and his slate,
Or try to con a book.
There, see! he's lounging down the street,
His hat without a brim,
He rather drags than lifts his feet—
His face unwashed and grim.
He's lolling now against a post;
But if you've seen him once,
You'll know the lad among a host
For what he is—a dunce.
Don't ask me what's the urchin's name;
I do not choose to tell;
But this you'll know—it is the same
As his who does not blush for shame
That he don't read or spell.

The Sluggard
'Tis the voice of the sluggard;
I heard him complain,
"You have waked me too soon,
I must slumber again."
As the door on it's hinges,
So he on his bed
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,
And when he gets up
He sits folding his hands,
Or walking about sauntering,
Or trifling he stands.
I pass'd by his garden,
And saw the wild brier,
The thorn and the thistle
Grow broader and higher;
The clothes that hung on him
Are turning to rags,
And his money still wastes
Till he starves or he begs.
I made him a visit,
Still hoping to find
That he took better care
For improving his mind;
He told me his dreams,
Talked of eating and drinking,
But he scarce reads his Bible,
And never loves thinking.
Said I then to my heart,
"Here's a lesson for me;
This man's but a picture
Of what I might be;
But thanks to my friends
For their care in my breeding,
Who taught me bedtimes
To love working and reading."
Watts

Idle Dicky And The Goat
John Brown is a man
Without houses or lands,
Himself he supports
By the work of his hands.
He brings home his wages
Each Saturday night,
To his wife and his children,
A very good sight.
His eldest boy, Dicky,
On errands when sent,
To loiter and chatter
Was very much bent;
The neighbours all call'd him
An odd little trout,
His shoes they were broke,
And his toes they peep'd out.
To see such old shoes
All their sorrows were rife;
John Brown he much grieved,
And so did his wife,
He kiss'd his boy Dicky,
And stroked his white head,
"You shall have a new pair,
My dear boy," he then said.
"I've here twenty shillings,
And money has wings;
Go first get this note changed,
I want other things."
Now here comes the mischief—
This Dicky would stop
At an ill-looking, mean-looking
Greengrocer's shop.
For here lived a chattering
Dunce of a boy;
To prate with this urchin
Gave Dicky great joy.
And now, in his boasting,
He shows him his note,
And now to the green-stall
Up marches a goat.
The laughed, for it was
This young nanny-goat's way
With those who pass'd by her
To gambol and play.
All three they went on
In their frolicsome bouts,
Till Dick dropt the note
On a bunch of green sprouts.
Now what was Dick's wonder
To see the vile goat,
In munching the green sprouts,
Eat up his bank note!
He crying ran back
To John Brown with the news,
And by stopping to idle
He lost his new shoes.
Adelaide Taylor

Idleness and Mischief
How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day
From every opening flower.
How skilfully she builds her cell;
How neat she spreads the wax;
And labours hard to store it well;
With the sweet food she makes.
In works of labour 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
Let my first years be passed;
That I may give you every day
Some good account at last.
Watts

Come and Go.
Dick Dawdle had land
Worth two hundred a year,
Yet from debt and from dunning
He never was free,
His intellect was not
Surprisingly clear,
But he never felt satisfied
How it could be.
The raps at his door,
And the rings at his gate.
And the threats of a gaol
He no longer could bear:
So he made up his mind
To sell half his estate,
Which would pay all his debts,
And leave something to spare.
He leased to a farmer
The rest of his land
For twenty-one years;
And on each quarter-day
The honest man went
With his rent in his hand,
His liberal landlord
Delighted to pay.
Before half the term
Of the lease had expired,
The farmer, one day
With a bagful of gold,
Said, "Pardon me, sir,
But I long have desired
To purchase my farm,
If the land can be sold.
"Ten years I've been blest
With success and with health,
With trials a few—
I thank God, not severe—
I am grateful. I hope,
Though not proud of my wealth,
But I've managed to lay
By a hundred a year."
"Why how," exclaimed Dick,
"Can this possibly be?"
(With a stare of surprise,
And a mortified laugh,)
"The whole of my farm
Proved too little for me,
And you it appears,
Have grown rich upon half."
"I hope you'll excuse me,"
The farmer replies,
"But I'll tell you the cause,
If your honor would know;
In two little words
All the difference lies,
I always say Come,
And you used to say Go."
"Well, and what does that mean,
My good fellow?" he said.
"Why this, sir, that I
Always rise with the sun;
You said 'Go' to your man,
As you lay in your bed,
I say 'Come, Jack, with me,'
And I see the work done."
R. S. Sharpe

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