BLIND MAN’S BUFF.
Harry, Charlie, Grace and May,
Playing Blind-man’s-buff one day,
Running here and running there,
Falling over stool and chair.
Strange how Charlie right away
Caught them, ’till his cousin May
Saw him peek, and cried, “No fair,
Charlie boy, how do you dare.”
Charlie hung his head in shame,
Ran and left them to their game,
Hid himself behind the door
For at least an hour or more.
So I’m sure it did not pay
Charlie boy to peek that way,
In playing games of any kind
Honesty is best you’ll find.
—Ella Broes van Heekeren.
The noblest mind the best contentment has.
—Edmund Spenser.
The Death and Burial of Cock Robin.
Who killed Cock Robin?
“I,” said the Sparrow,
“With my bow and arrow
I killed Cock Robin.”
This is the Sparrow,
With his bow and arrow.
Who saw him die?
“I,” said the Fly,
“With my little eye,
And I saw him die.”
This is the little Fly,
Who saw Cock Robin die.
Who caught his blood?
“I,” said the Fish,
“With my little dish,
And I caught his blood.”
This is the Fish
That held the dish.
Who made his shroud?
“I,” said the Beetle,
“With my little needle,
And I made his shroud.”
This is the Beetle,
With his thread and needle.
Who shall dig his grave?
“I,” said the Owl,
“With my spade and show’l,
And I’ll dig his grave.”
This is the Owl,
With his spade and show’l.
Who’ll be the parson?
“I,” said the Rook,
“With my little book,
And I’ll be the parson.”
This is the Rook,
Reading the book.
Who’ll be the clerk?
“I,” said the Lark,
“If it’s not in the dark,
And I’ll be the clerk.”
This is the Lark,
Saying “Amen” like a clerk.
Who’ll carry him to the grave?
“I,” said the Kite,
“If ’tis not in the night,
And I’ll carry him to his grave.”
This is the Kite,
About to take flight.
Who’ll carry the link?
“I,” said the Linnet,
“I’ll fetch it in a minute,
And I’ll carry the link.”
This is the Linnet,
And a link with fire in it.
Who’ll be the chief mourner?
“I,” said the Dove,
“I mourn for my love,
And I’ll be chief mourner.”
This is the Dove,
Who Cock Robin did love.
Who’ll sing a psalm?
“I,” said the Thrush,
As she sat in a bush,
“And I’ll sing a psalm.”
This is the Thrush,
Singing psalms from a bush.
And who’ll toll the bell?
“I,” said the Bull,
“Because I can pull;”
And so, Cock Robin, farewell.
