BOOKS
My father's books are made of words,
As long and hard as words can be,
They look so very dull to me!
No pictures there of beasts and birds,
Of dear Miss Muffet eating curds,
And things a child would like to see.
My books have pictures, large and small,
Some brightly colored, some just plain,
I look them through and through again.
Friends from their pages seem to call,
Jack climbs his bean-stalk thick and tall,
I know he will not climb in vain.
Here comes Red-Riding-Hood, and here
The Sleeping Beauty lies in state,
The prince will come ere 'tis too late!
And this is Cinderella dear.
The godmother will soon appear
And send her to her happy fate.
Oh, father's books are very wise,
As wise as any books can be!
Yet he wants stories, I can see;
For really, it's a great surprise
How many picture-books he buys,
And reads the fairy tales to me!
HANNAH G. FERNALD.