MORAL PHILOSOPHY FOR LITTLE FOLKS.
Little grains of rhubarb,
Spatula'd with skill,
Make the mighty bolus
And the little pill.
Little pence and half-pence,
Hoarded up by stealth,
Make the mighty total
Of the miser's wealth
Little trips to Randwick,
Taking six to three,
Make the out-at-elbows
Seedy swells we see.
Little sprees on oysters,
Bottled stout and ale,
Lead but to the cloisters
Of the gloomy gaol.
Little tracts and tractlets,
Scattered here and there,
Lead the sinner's footsteps
To the house of prayer.
Little bits of paper,
Headed I.O.U.,
Ever draw the Christian
Closer to the Jew.
Little chords and octaves,
Little flats and sharps,
Make the tunes the angels
Play on golden harps.
Little bouts with broom-sticks,
Carving forks and knives,
Make the stirring drama
Of our married lives.
Little flakes of soap-suds,
Glenfield starch, and blue,
Make the saint's white shirt-fronts
And the sinner's too.
Little tiny insects,
Smaller than a flea,
Make the coral inlands
In the southern sea.
Little social falsehoods,
Such as "Not at home,"
Lead to realms of darkness
Where the wicked roam.
Likewise little cuss words
Such as "blast," and "blow,"
Quite as much as wuss words
Fill the place below.
